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RECOLLECTIONS  OF 
A ROYAL  ACADEMICIAN 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2015 


https://archive.org/details/recollectionsofr00hors_0 


Waiter '2A.cXc 


*7 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF 
A ROYAL  ACADEMICIAN 

BY  JOHN  CALLCOTT  HORSLEY,  R.A. 

EDITED  BY  MRS.  EDMUND  HELPS 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM  THE  AUTHOR’S 
DRAWINGS  AND  PICTURES 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


APOLOGIA 


I HAVE  noticed  of  late,  but  without  surprise, 
that  the  literary  critics  of  the  public  Press  are 
beginning  to  protest  against  the  numbers  of 
biographies  and  autobiographies  they  are  called 
upon  to  deal  with  and  pronounce  upon,  but  it  is  to 
be  remembered  that  writers  like  Disraeli  and  Bulwer 
have  recorded  their  opinion  that  such  literary  efforts 
are  more  interesting  than  any  other,  and  on  reading 
that  noble  Journal  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  one  is 
tempted  to  believe  that  he  felt  more  keen  delight 
in  those  daily  impromptu  contributions  to  his 
literary  work  than  in  many  of  the  most  brilliant 
chapters  of  his  completed  works. 

Not  having  any  special  development  of  the 
organ  of  self-esteem,  I desire  to  explain  how  it 
comes  to  pass  that  I propose  “ to  bestow  my 
tediousness  ” upon  the  few  who  are  likely  to  read 
what  I write.  Being  by  nature  a talker,  with  a 


VI 


APOLOGIA 


keen  appreciation  of  that  disposition  in  others, 
I have  always  delighted  in  hearing  interesting  and 
good  stories,  and  assisting  afterwards  in  their  dis- 
semination to  appreciative  company ; so  it  has  come 
to  pass  on  more  than  one  occasion,  after  a quasi- 
successful outpouring  from  my  lips  of  anecdotal 
matter,  I have  been  asked,  “ When  is  your  book 
coming  out  ? Why  don’t  you  publish  your  memories 
of  the  past  ? ” till  it  culminated  in  one  of  my  most 
valued  friends  and  brother  Academicians,  Briton 
Riviere,  r.a.,  saying:  “ I tell  you  what  it  is, 
Horsley,  I shall  refuse  to  die  until  your  book  is 
published  ! ” I feel  most  sincerely  that  I have  much 
to  apologise  for  in  attempting  the  task  I have  set 
myself,  and,  though  dwelling  unduly  upon  my  own 
individuality  is  the  last  thing  I shall  aim  at,  I am 
almost  brought  to  a standstill  when  thoughts  crowd 
upon  me  of  the  number  of  questions  I desire  to  be 
heard  upon,  and  of  the  order  in  which  they  are  to 
be  marshalled  in  my  text.  So,  as  a veritable  tyro 
in  literary  composition,  my  only  chance  of  escape 
from  unendurable  failure  will  be  to  go  ahead  and 
write  as  I find  it  suits  the  memory  of  the  moment, 
not  even  waiting  now  to  complete  my  “Apologia”  ; 


APOLOGIA 


Vll 


but  merely  adding  one  word  in  acknowledgment  of 
my  great  indebtedness  to  Mrs.  Edmund  Helps,  for 
the  skill  with  which  she  has  woven  into  book  form 
the  material  I have  supplied  for  these  reminis- 
cences. The  task  must,  indeed,  have  been  a con- 
siderable tax  upon  her  thought  and  time,  and  1 
can  only  repeat  my  keen  sense  of  the  obligation 
I am  under  to  her  for  what  she  has  so  ably  done 
for  me. 

J.  C.  HORSLEY 


i,  High  Row,  Kensington 
September , igoj 


POST  SCRIPTUM 


HE  much -lamented  death  on  October  19th 


of  the  author  of  these  Recollections , while  the 
book  was  still  in  the  printer  s hands,  makes  a few 
words  of  explanation  desirable. 

There  is  no  doubt  that,  had  the  book  been 
written  some  years  ago,  while  Mr.  Horsley  was 
nearer  the  zenith  of  his  remarkable  and  varied 
powers,  it  would  have  been  of  wider  scope,  and  of 
a more  important  character,  and  it  would  doubt- 
less have  contained  many  valuable  criticisms  and 
opinions  on  subjects  on  which  he  was  specially 
qualified  to  speak  with  authority. 

It  was,  however,  not  till  his  eighty-sixth  year 
that  he  began  to  write,  and  asked  an  old  friend, 
in  accordance  with  a promise  of  many  years  ago, 
to  be  his  collaborateur.  Part  of  the  book  was 
compiled  from  a red  notebook,  latterly  his  constant 
companion,  in  which  the  substance  of  some  chapters 
was  already  recorded  ; other  parts  were  dictated  ; 
others  again  compiled  from  brief  notes,  taken  while 


IX 


X 


POST  SCRIPTUM 


he  talked  in  his  animated  and  impressive  manner, 
or  told  stories  of  old  days.  It  is  interesting  to 
record  that  Mr.  Horsley  had  not  a single  diary  or 
letter  to  help  him  ; he  was  entirely  dependent  upon 
his  singularly  clear  and  retentive  memory. 

On  one  occasion,  very  near  the  end,  when 
present-day  events  were  little  realised  by  him,  and 
perhaps  forgotten  the  next  hour,  he  told  in  graphic 
words  stories  of  fifty  or  sixty  years  ago.  He  also 
gave  the  editor  notes — of  too  sacred  a character  for 
publication  — containing  touching  expressions  of 
gratitude  for  the  love  of  those  near  and  dear,  and 
he  recalled,  as  if  out  of  the  mist  of  far-off  youth,  an 
anecdote  of  the  first  Mrs.  Horsley,  a gifted  and 
beautiful  personality,  who  at  the  age  of  three  had 
been  taken  to  play  the  piano  before  Queen  Adelaide. 

He  is  at  rest.  But  he  took  so  genuine  a pleasure 
in  writing  these  memories  that  friends  and  publisher 
alike  deeply  regret  that  he  did  not  live  to  see  them 
published. 

M.  ALICE  HELPS 


London,  November , 1903 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

Parentage — The  Mall — My  Aunt  Wall — “The  Sweet  Peas” — 
Early  recollections — Female  Orphan  Asylum — First  visit  to 
the  opera — My  first  school — My  first  ball — My  first  love  . i 


CHAPTER  II 

Drawing  proclivities — The  Mulreadys — My, career  settled — Sass’s 
Academy — Sir  Thomas  Lawrence — William  Hilton — Early 
pictures — Medal  for  the  antique — Damson  cheese  . .16 


CHAPTER  III 

Theatrical  performances  — “King  Death”  — Barry  Cornwall — 
Sophy’s  opera — Sir  Benjamin  Hawes — A runaway  steed — 
Walking  powers — Strauss  waltzes — Our  walk  to  Windsor  . 31 


CHAPTER  IV 

Portrait  of  Moscheles — John  Sheepshanks — Mulready’s  vanity — 
Blackheath  dinners — Elizabeth — Wells  of  Redleaf— Edwin 
Landseer’s  tour  de  force — The  Pride  of  the  Village — Vernon — 
Maclise  . . . . ...  48 


XI 


Xll 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  V 

PAGE 

Lady  Callcott — Sir  Augustus  Callcott’s  studio — Distinguished 
visitors — Greenough’s  review — Sedgwick’s  bon-mot — Visit  to 
Cambridge — Buckley — Empson — Peacocke —University  rows 
— Professor  Smythe — Sam  Cartwright  . . . . 62 

CHAPTER  VI 

Visit  to  Norfolk — R.  M.  Bacon — Cossey — Thomas  Coke  of 
Norfolk — Holkham  — Lord  Leicester’s  second  marriage — 
Shooting — Shakesperean  enthusiasts  of  Norwich — First  visit 
to  Paris — Paul  Delaroche  — “ The  Hemicycle  ” — Horace 
Vernet — The  Institut — Dr.  Seth  Thompson — Leighton  at  the 
Athenaeum — Vernet’s  picture — Second  visit  to  Paris,  1848 — 
Brunei — The  Chamber  of  Deputies — Louis  Blanc — Notable 
members  — Louis  Blanc  in  England  — Sevenoaks — “The 
Crown” — Eliza  Cook  . . . • • 75 


CHAPTER  VII 

Haddon  Hall — The  Vernons — L.  E.  L.’s  criticism — Ightham 
Mote — Expedition  from  Gravesend — Difficulties  and  how  we 
overcame  them — Charles  Landseer — History  of  the  Mote — 
Major  Luard — Heraldic  Arms — Horsley  Castle — Old  Kensing- 
ton— Kensington  Gardens — The  gravel  pits — William  III. — 

Yew  hedges — Orme — Village  of  Kensington — Highwaymen — 
General  Graham’s  adventure — His  wife’s  picture — Picture  by 
Sir  Augustus  Callcott — Effect  of  sunshine  . . . 101 

CHAPTER  VIII 

Her  Majesty  Queen  Victoria — Early  memories — The  young 
Princess — The  Empress  Eugdnie — Miss  Marianne  Skerrett, 
Dresser  to  the  Queen — Portrait  of  the  Princess  Beatrice — 
Birth  of  my  son  Victor — Walter  taken  to  be  inspected — 
Interviews  with  the  Queen — The  Prince  Consort — Sir  G. 
Cornewall  Lewis — Edwin  Landseer  as  a story-teller  . .123 


CONTENTS  xiii 

CHAPTER  IX 

PAGE 

Sir  Henry  Holland — Sidney  Smith — Moore’s  songs — Monckton 
Milnes — William  Rickman  and  George  Maule — The  abbey  in 
Knightsbridge — The  Abbess’  dancing-class — The  polka — 
Denman — Scene  at  Strathfieldsaye  . . . 140 

CHAPTER  X 

Felix  Mendelssohn  Bartholdy — First  visit  to  England — An  in- 
troduction to  him  — Extempore  playing  — His  kindness  — 
Moscheles — Amusing  duets — Henschel’s  singing  of  St.  Paul — 
George  Eliot — Mendelssohn  at  St.  Paul’s — Walks  in  London 
—Sundays  at  High  Row— The  Elijah — Joachim’s  d£but — 
Mendelssohn  as  an  artist  . . . . 151 

CHAPTER  XI 

Isambard  Kingdom  Brunei — Parentage — Adventure  at  St.  Paul’s 
— As  a Surrey  yeoman — Thames  Tunnel — Party  of  visitors — 
Clifton  Suspension  Bridge — Visits  to  Wales — The  “ Flying 
Hearse” — Swallowing  half  a sovereign — Extract  from  Life : 
Note  I. — Letter  from  I.  K.  B.  to  his  son  . . . 169 

CHAPTER  XII 

Uncle  John — Visits  to  Newton’s  Hotel — The  Adelphi — T.  P. 
Cooke — The  Kembles — Tableaux  vivants — Adelaide  Kemble 
— Fanny  Kemble — Taglioni — Duvernay — Henry  Chorley — 
Hamlet-— The  fiasco — Peter  Powell — The  Castle  of  Altamont 
— The  Children  of  Israel — John  Parry— Dinner  at  the  Royal 
Academy  Club  . . . . , .191 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Michael  Faraday — Lectures  on  chemistry  of  colour— His  personal 
appearance — Expressions  of  faith — Huxley — Lectures  at  the 
Royal  Institution — The  microbe — Huxley’s  eloquence — His 
admirers  . . . . , . . 216 


XIV 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PAGE 

Subject-painters  Fashion  in  art — “ Chantrey  Bequest  ” — Hilton’s 
use  of  asphaltum — Merritt’s  skill  as  a restorer — Introduction 
to  Chantrey — Stothard  as  a designer — George  Jones  and  the 
Duke  of  Wellington— Thomas  Webster  as  a chorister — 
Technicalities — The  Duke  at  public  exhibitions — Mr.  Young — 
Discussion  on  Chinese  white — Turner’s  views — Frederick 
Walker — David  Roberts  and  French  ultramarine — Turner’s 
“ Snowdon  Range  ” — Turner  as  a critic  . . . 224 

CHAPTER  XV 

Cartoons — Notice  to  artists — Charcoal  drawings — Munich  School 
— Cornelius  as  a critic  of  the  amateur — “ Wrinkles  ” — Competi- 
tion awards — Poets’  Hall — Macaulay  intervenes — Picture  of 
Henry  V.  as  Prince  of  Wales  . . ...  249 

CHAPTER  XVI 

Presidents  of  R.A. — Sir  Thomas  Lawrence — Sir  Martin  Archer 
Shee — Sir  Charles  Locke  Eastlake — Frescoes — Sir  Francis 
Grant — He  defends  his  perspective — Lord  Leighton — Sir 
John  Everett  Millais — Academic  hospitalities — Sir  Edwin’s 
stories  . . . . ...  258 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Winter  exhibitions — Fawkes  of  Farnley — Reception,  failure,  and 
ultimate  success — Turner’s  study  of  nature — Treatment  of 
Turner  in  the  National  Gallery — Old  Masters — “Our  Mr. 
Horsley” — Visit  to  Ireland — Three  neglected  galleries — Old 
Dulwich  College — Mr.  Lindsay — My  first  cigar  . . . 279 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

Jim  Bishop,  a typical  model — Cope  takes  him  in  hand — Before  the 
magistrates — Defence  of  Webster — Employed  by  Boxall — 
Pigs’-wash — J.  B.  vanishes  from  the  scene — April  10th,  1848 — 
Special  constables  . . . ...  298 


CONTENTS 


xv 


CHAPTER  XIX 

PAGE 

London  fogs — My  adventures — Other  outrages— Curious  incident  313 
CHAPTER  XX 

City  dinners — The  Merchant  Taylors — “Our  datur” — Sir  Julius 
Benedict — The  art  of  after-dinner  speaking— My  first  after- 
dinner  speech  at  the  Academy  banquet — The  Mansion  House 
— Lord  O’Hagan  and  Harker — Charles  Dickens’s  speech — Sir 
Richard  Owen  . . . ...  322 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Cranbrook — Willesley — Norman  Shaw,  R.A. — Friendly  models 
— Difficulties  in  finding  models — Mr.  Edmund  Bastard  — 
Yealmpton — Proposed  frescoes — Closing  words  . . . 338 


Index 


• 353 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


The  AUTHOR  (photogravure)  . . Frontispiece 

From  a Portrait  by  Walter  C.  Horsley. 

PAGE 

The  Mall,  Callcott  Houses  . ...  2 

Mrs.  Horsley  (the  Author’s  Mother)  in  1830  . . 4 

From  a Sketch  by  J.  C.  H. 

William  Horsley,  Mus.  Bac.  Oxon.  (the  Author’s 

Father)  . . . ...  6 

From  a Drawing  by  J.  C.  H. 

William  Mulready,  R.A.  (photogravure)  . . .18 

From  the  Portrait  by  Sir  Augustus  Callcott,  r.a.,  in  the  possession  of  the 
Author. 

Sir  Augustus  Callcott,  R.A.  (photogravure)  . 64 

From  the  Portrait  by  John  Linnell,  in  the  possession  of  the  Author. 

Lady  Callcott  (photogravure)  . . 66 

From  a Sketch  in  oils  by  Sir  Augustus  Callcott,  r.a.,  in  the  possession  of 
the  Author. 

Lurgenstein’s  Garten,  Leipzig,  the  House  of  Felix 

Mendelssohn  Bartholdy  . . . 152 

From  a Drawing  by  Mendelssohn  himself. 

Leipzig,  Konigs-Strasse,  No.  5 . . . 166 

From  a Drawing  by  Felix  Mendelssohn  Bartholdy. 

“Religion”  . . ...  254 

Sketch  for  Fresco  in  House  of  Lords. 

The  Author  (photogravure)  . . . . 310 

From  a Photograph. 

WlLLESLEY,  CRANBROOK  . . ...  340 

“No.  i,  High  Row,”  Kensington,  from  the  Garden  . 350 


XVI 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A 
ROYAL  ACADEMICIAN 


CHAPTER  I 

Parentage — The  Mall— My  Aunt  Wall — “The  Sweet  Peas” — Early 
recollections — Female  Orphan  Asylum — First  visit  to  the  opera 
— My  first  school— My  first  ball — My  first  love. 

MY  dear  father,  William  Horsley,  Mus.  Bac., 
Oxon.,  was  known  as  one  of  the  most  famous 
of  English  musicians.  His  glees  were  pronounced 
by  Felix  Mendelssohn  Bartholdy  to  be  among  the 
most  perfect  musical  compositions  he  knew.  My 
dearest  mother  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  Dr. 
Callcott,  also  highly  distinguished  as  a musician, 
and  for  general  literary  power  and  marvellous 
industry  in  the  attainment  of  knowledge.  The 
Callcott  family  had  been  settled  in  Bayswater  from 

B 


2 


FAMILY  ASSOCIATIONS 


[chap. 


the  early  days  of  Queen  Anne’s  reign,  when  their 
representative  was  a thriving  builder,  and  had  to  do 
with  much  of  the  later  work  at  Kensington  Palace. 
Tradition  says  that  he  built  the  beautiful  Orangery, 
which  has  lately  (1901)  been  restored,  a work  which 
must  have  been  originally  designed  by  Sir  Chris- 
topher Wren.  He  also  built  a row  of  residences 
in  the  Mall,  Bayswater,  for  himself  and  members 
of  his  family,  which  were  pulled  down  some  years 
ago,  and  which  were  inhabited  up  to  the  time  of 
their  demolition  by  descendants  of  the  Callcott 
family.  Well  do  I remember  many  of  the  former 
inhabitants  of  these  old  family  houses,  especially 
so  a grand  old  great-aunt,  who  was  born  in  1740, 
and  from  whom  I received  a description  of  the 
appearance  of  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  in  1745, 
driving  in  a gig  from  the  field  of  Culloden,  in  which' 
vehicle  he  had  travelled  after  the  victory  all  the  way 
from  the  battlefield  to  Kensington  Palace,  the  side 
entrance  to  which  was  in  the  Mall  in  front  of  the 
houses  I am  referring  to. 

Aunt  Wall,  as  she  was  always  called,  lived  to  an 
extreme  old  age  ; she  was  five  years  old  in  the  year 
of  Culloden,  and  always  pointed  out  the  window  of 


THE  CALLCOTT  HOUSES  IN  THE  MALL 

(now  pulled  down)  .To  face  page 


' 


I] 


“AUNT  WALL” 


3 


the  Callcott  house  at  which  she  was  held  up  to  see 
the  “ Butcher  ” Duke  pass. 

Another  story  Aunt  Wall  used  to  tell  with  even 
more  unction  was  an  elaborate  description  of  all 
the  young  Kensington  beaux,  who  used  to  await 
her  return  from  the  morning  service  at  Kensington 
Church,  in  the  Broad  Walk  of  the  Public  Gardens. 
These  young  swells  were  sometimes  spoken  of  by 
name,  but  generally  dwelt  upon  as  “the  gentleman 
in  the  vermilion  coat,  the  pea-green,  or  the  bright 
blue,”  as  the  fancy  seized  her.  She  never  married, 
and  died,  if  I remember  rightly,  just  short  of  her 
full  century,  passing  to  her  eternal  rest  in  peaceful 
happiness.  Some  years  previous  to  her  decease  she 
slipped  on  the  back  staircase  of  the  Mall  house  in 
which  she  lived,  and  fell  some  distance,  breaking 
one  of  her  thigh  bones.  It  was  late  in  the  after- 
noon, when  few  of  the  occupants  of  the  house  were 
at  home,  and  she  found  that  she  could  not  move  and 
therefore  must  be  gravely  injured;  so  she  lay  quietly 
as  she  fell,  till  someone  using  this  back  stair  found 
her  perfectly  calm,  waiting  for  rescue.  She  was 
carried  to  her  bed,  from  which  she  was  never  again 
able  to  rise.  She  was  quite  happy  to  have  me 


4 


THE  CALLCOTTS 


[chap. 


sitting  by  her  bedside  and  making  many  drawings 
of  her  : one  of  them,  which  I think  I may  say  was 
a decidedly  creditable  performance,  was  filched  from 
my  portfolio  by  some  admirer,  but  never  returned. 
Never  at  any  one  of  these  morning  sittings  did  she 
fail  to  tell  me  at  least  once  both  the  stories  I have 
already  referred  to. 

The  Callcotts  were  a good-looking  race.  Dr. 
Callcott  and  his  brother,  Sir  Augustus  Wall 
Callcott,  r.a.,  were  handsome  men,  the  latter 
being  known  as  the  “handsomest  young  man  in 
Kensington.”  The  doctors  nine  daughters  were 
all  more  or  less  good-looking.  My  mother,  Betsy, 
who  was  the  eldest,  and  her  charming  sister  Sophy, 
were  in  their  teens  called  “the  Sweet  Peas  of 
Kensington,”  the  one  being  a brunette  and  the 
other  a blonde  of  exquisite  fairness. 

My  mother  had  inherited  to  a marked  degree  the 
musical  talent  of  her  father,  and  was  an  admirable 
musician.  She  had  in  many  ways  the  artistic 
temperament,  and  though  she  never  drew,  she  was 
a keen  and  delightful  critic  of  my  youthful  efforts 
in  pictorial  art.  She  was  generally  at  my  side 
when  I was  drawing,  and  I well  remember  her 


MY  MOTHER  JN  1830 

FROM  A SKETCH  BY  J.  C.  H. 


To  face  page  \ 


I] 


MY  EARLY  YEARS 


5 


kindly  “ Now,  John,  I am  sure  that  is  not  quite  the 
right  proportion,”  and  similar  remarks.  I may  add, 
her  criticisms  were  invariably  correct. 

No  words  can  ever  describe  what  we  owed  to  our 
mother.  She  was  a holy  woman,  and  the  outcome 
of  her  faith  was  her  bright  and  sunny  presence. 
She  was  the  true  centre  of  the  home  life. 

Our  family  consisted  of  my  sister  Mary,  the  eldest, 
who  afterwards  married  the  great  engineer  Isambard 
Brunei ; Fanny,  who  married  a physician,  Dr.  Seth 
Thompson ; myself,  Sophy,  who  never  married, 
and  my  brother  Charles,  who  was  one  of  twins,  and 
who  became  a distinguished  musician,  but  died 
early  in  America. 

I may  record  here  a few  personal  recollections  of 
my  first  home  in  Brompton.  One  anecdote  of  my 
infancy  I have  often  heard  told.  I was  a delicate 
child  and  not  expected  to  live.  On  one  occasion  a 
neighbour  calling  to  inquire  noticed  the  blinds  were 
down,  and  in  a properly  lowered  voice  commented 
on  this  fact  to  the  maid  who  opened  the  door. 

4 ‘Yes,  ma’am,”  was  her  answer,  “ it’s  because  of  the 
sun.”  The  lady  went  quickly  away  and  excited 
the  greatest  commotion  in  Brompton  Row  by 


6 


ASYLUM  FOR  FEMALE  ORPHANS  [chap. 


spreading  the  news  of  my  death,  for  I was  at  that 
time  the  only  son,  and  known  to  be  treasured  by 
my  parents,  who  were  well  known  and  widely  loved 
in  the  neighbourhood,  and  much  sympathy  was  felt 
until  the  mistake  was  rectified. 

When  I was  four  years  old,  my  father  was 
organist  to  the  Asylum  for  Female  Orphans,  which 
was  a stately  building  in  the  Westminster  Bridge 
Road  (the  site  is  now  occupied  by  a Roman  Catholic 
church),  and  one  Sunday  he  took  me  with  him  to 
the  morning  service,  and  landed  me  in  the  organ- 
loft.  Everything  was  new  and  surprising  to  me, 
and  especially  the  crowd  of  buxom  girls,  at  least 
a hundred  in  number,  all  dressed  alike,  ranged  right 
and  left  of  the  organ,  and  who,  when  the  organist 
had  played  a bar  or  two  of  the  morning  hymn,  sang 
out  with  open  mouths  and  such  energy  that  I was 
positively  scared,  and  incontinently  accompanied 
the  performance  with  a prolonged  howl,  upon  which 
my  father,  continuing  to  play  the  hymn  accompani- 
ment with  one  hand,  supplied  me  promptly  with 
paper  out  of  his  capacious  pocket,  where  he  always 
kept  a store  of  backs  of  letters  (the  envelope  had 
not  been  invented  then),  and  a silver  pencil-case  of 


MY  FATHER 

FROM  A DRAWING  BY  J.  C.  H. 


To  face  page  $ 


I] 


REMINISCENCES  OF  NELSON 


7 


heroic  proportions,  with  which  it  was  already  a 
habit  of  mine  to  scrawl,  thus  quieting  me,  and 
giving  undeniable  evidence  that  the  production  of 
pencil  and  paper  was  a recognised  receipt  for 
quieting  me  in  moments  of  undue  excitement. 

The  asylum  was  surrounded  by  a delightful 
garden,  in  which  the  girls  were  allowed  to  stroll, 
and  where  they  had  their  playground.  All  has 
now  vanished,  and  the  ground  is  occupied  by 
St.  Georges  Cathedral  and  accompanying  build- 
ings. The  grand  old  institution  of  the  asylum  was 
moved  to  be  reinstituted  at  Beddington,  near 
Croydon,  in  a fine  old  Jacobean  house,  which,  with 
its  spacious  grounds,  was  purchased  by  the  trustees 
for  the  asylum  when  they  had  been  bought  out 
of  Lambeth. 

The  most  interesting  fact  connected  with  their 
old  building  was  that  whenever  Lord  Nelson  was 
in  London  he  always  attended  morning  service  on 
Sundays  at  the  asylum  chapel,  delighting  so  much 
in  the  singing  of  the  orphan  girls.  My  father  spoke 
often  of  encountering  the  mighty  little  man  walking 
to  the  asylum  on  Sunday  mornings,  invariably 
habited  in  a complete  suit  of  black. 


8 


REV.  JOHN  PITMAN 


[chap. 


Attractive  preachers  were  usually  chosen  to 
preach  the  sermons,  but  the  only  one  I remember 
was  the  Rev.  John  Pitman,  whom  we  afterwards 
knew  well  in  Kensington.  He  was  a most  vigorous 
and  able  clergyman  and  also  an  admirable  private 
tutor ; he  was  very  droll  and  amusing  and  the 
delight  of  all  children.  Dressed  in  a suit  of  grey 
cloth,  with  breeches  and  gaiters  to  match,  when 
calling  on  my  parents  at  breakfast-time,  which  he 
often  did,  he  would  enter  the  room  with  a professed 
imitation  of  Madame  Taglioni,  the  great  opera 
dancer.  The  aspect  of  those  grey  buttoned  legs 
doing  a pirouette  is  a delightful  memory,  it  was  so 
irresistibly  comic.  He  was  a professor  of  elocution 
and  a powerful  orator.  I remember  his  winding  up 
a potent  appeal  for  the  deserving  poor  with  this 
peroration  : “ I do  not  plead  for  those  who  will  not 
dig  and  to  beg  are  not  ashamed.” 

The  other  Brompton  memory  I refer  to  was  of 
the  astonishment  I felt  when  my  dear  father 
announced  that  a friend  had  given  him  a stage-box 
at  the  opera  that  would  hold  us  all,  father  and 
mother  and  three  children,  the  others  being  too 
juvenile  to  be  of  the  party.  I was  then  five,  and 


ERRATUM. 

Page  9,  line  io,  for  “ Rossini”  read  “ Meyerbeer.” 


I] 


FIRST  VISIT  TO  THE  OPERA 


9 


I fairly  wearied  my  small  brain  with  the  effort  to 
imagine  what  sort  of  box  it  would  be  ; would  it  be 
connected  in  any  way  with  a stage-coach  box  with 
which  I was  somewhat  acquainted,  or  should  we  sit 
in  it  with  the  lid  down  ? All  these  surmises  I tried 
to  discuss  with  our  nurse  and  nursery-maid.  They 
only  laughed  and  said  I should  see  all  in  good  time. 

I felt  sure  their  reticence  was  only  the  result  of 
ignorance.  Then  came  the  astonishing  develop- 
ment of  the  mystery.  The  opera  was  Rossini’s 

II  Crociato  in  Egitto , with  appropriate  scenery  and 
decorations,  which  enchanted  my  young  mind 
(which  had  assimilated  the  box  arrangements  with- 
out further  question),  but  not  so  the  voice  of  the 
hero  of  the  piece,  Signor  Velluti.  Child  as  I was,  I 
had  often  been  present  at  glee  performances  in  my 
father’s  house  when  concert  parties  were  going  on, 
and,  with  half  of  my  small  soul  absolutely  devoted 
to  music,  had  acquired  the  habit  of  remaining  in 
absolute  silence  without  fidgeting  when  music  was 
going  on. 

Velluti’s  voice  was,  as  the  Italians  term  it,  “voce  di 
testa,”  or  head  voice,  artificially  produced,  and  not 
to  be  confused  with  the  counter-tenor  of  England. 


IO 


AN  OBJECT  OF  AVERSION 


[chap. 


I can  recall  now  the  scene,  presumably  Cairo, 
with  boats  on  the  Nile  in  the  background,  out  of 
one  of  which  Velluti  landed,  and  advancing  to  the 
footlights,  raised  his  left  hand  to  his  heart,  and  then 
commenced  a cavatina  in  tones  very  like  a feminine 
squeal,  penetrating  and  painful. 

Another  early  memory  is  the  intense  dislike  I 
took  to  a doctor  of  divinity,  a relative  of  my 
mother’s,  who  was  a frequent  visitor  to  our  house. 
It  was  his  legs  chiefly  that  roused  my  ire,  encased 
in  black  tights,  over  which  he  wore  Hessian  boots 
with  a tassel  in  front.  He  was  to  my  mind  un- 
pleasingly  red  and  “jowly”  in  the  face,  and  being 
a professional  pedagogue,  had  a bad  habit  of  asking 
me  provoking  questions  in  elementary  geography 
and  orthography  and  arithmetic.  When  many  years 
afterwards  I became  acquainted  with  an  excellent 
picture  of  Mulready’s,  in  the  Sheepshanks  Collec- 
tion in  South  Kensington,  I was  greatly  struck 
with  the  resemblance  of  the  principal  figure  to  this 
object  of  my  aversion  ; it  is  very  likely  that  as 
he  was  a connection  of  my  mother’s  family  he  was 
known  to  Mulready,  and  may,  indeed,  have  easily 
been  the  model  for  the  picture. 


I] 


MY  FIRST  SCHOOL  DAYS 


i 


When  I was  six  years  old  we  migrated  to  No.  i, 
High  Row,  Kensington  Gravel  Pits,  where  I am 
still  living  at  the  time  of  writing  these  memories. 

I went  as  a day-boarder  to  a school  near  by  when 
I was  seven  years  old,  the  buildings  of  which  are 
now  turned  to  the  use  of  the  Carmelite  Monastery 
and  Kensington  Dispensary,  and  the  area  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  church  now  occupies  what  was 
once  the  school  playground  with  a fine  row  of  elm 
trees.  Mr.  Edward  Slater  was  the  headmaster  for 
many  years,  and  a good  one. 

Among  my  schoolfellows  was  a pretty  little  fair- 
haired boy,  the  son  of  the  poet  Shelley,  afterwards 
known  as  Sir  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley.  There  was 
also  Edward,  the  elder  brother  of  the  present  Sir 
John  Tenniel.  Tenniel’ s father  was  our  instructor 
in  fencing  and  dancing.  It  was  in  teaching  his  son 
John  to  fence  that  the  accident  took  place  which 
destroyed  the  sight  of  one  eye.  Perhaps  it  is  not 
generally  known  that  this  distinguished  artist  has 
done  all  his  elaborate  and  excellent  work  thus  handi- 
capped. Mr.  Tenniel,  the  father,  was  a first-rate 
dancing-master,  and  I was  an  apt  pupil,  showing  at 
that  age  a decided  taste  for  the  Terpsichorean  art. 


12 


MY  ONLY  FIGHT 


[chap. 


I remember  distinctly  being  chosen  to  do  solo  per- 
formances on  prize-giving  days,  and  being  trotted 
out  to  dance  reels  and  hornpipes,  etc.  I was  under 
the  painful  impression  for  many  years  that  the  only 
prize  I ever  gained  at  school  was  for  dancing,  till 
comparatively  lately,  when  I,  to  my  great  satisfaction 
and  consolation,  found  that  I possessed  a classical 
volume,  awarded  me  for  proficiency  in  the  Latin 
tongue ! 

One  incident  that  has  left  a strong  impression  on 
my  memory  was  the  first  and  only  fight  that  I ever 
had  at  school.  We  were  all  assembled,  hanging 
about  in  the  playground  waiting  for  the  dinner-bell. 
I may  say  we  were  well  fed  at  this  school — the  day 
was  Friday — always  signalised  by  excellent  beef- 
steak pies.  A boy  about  my  own  age  came  quietly 
up  to  me  with  a black  bottle  of  a considerable  size 
in  his  hand,  and  asked  me  to  taste  his  physic.  I 
assented,  whereupon  he  tilted  the  bottle  up,  which 
contained  lamp-oil  he  had  filched  from  the  lamp- 
room,  and  the  contents  were  poured  partly  down 
my  throat  and  the  rest  over  my  clothes.  I went 
for  him  on  the  spot  con  motto  fnoco , and  rage 
gave  strength  to  my  blows.  However,  the  dinner- 


I] 


A “BARRING-OUT 


13 


bell  rang,  the  boys  all  bolted  to  the  beefsteak  pies, 
and  we,  the  combatants,  were  separated  by  our 
backers,  and  taken  in  to  be  as  much  cleaned  up  as 
circumstances  permitted. 

Being  a day-boarder,  I only  came  in  for  a second- 
ary share  in  a great  “barring-out.”  Some  of  the 
masters  had  offended  the  senior  boarders,  who 
surreptitiously  provisioned  their  rooms,  and  ran  up 
a big  bill  with  the  carpenter  for  boarding  up  at 
night  the  rooms  of  the  magisterial  staff  in  a very 
thorough  way,  the  headmaster  and  his  wife  being 
complete  prisoners  in  their  chamber  for  several 
hours.  The  ultimate  defeat  of  the  rebels  was 
decisive,  and  their  punitive  castigation  general  and 
emphatic,  and  decidedly  awe-inspiring  to  the  minds 
of  the  small  day-boarders. 

Our  dear  father  and  mother  very  early  introduced 
their  children  into  society.  When  I was  ten  or 
eleven  we  were  invited  to  a large  ball  in  Russell 
Square,  given  by  old  friends  of  the  family.  I re- 
member we  were  the  first  of  the  guests  to  arrive, 
and  we  stood  about  the  empty  ballroom  for  some 
time  till  there  were  sundry  arrivals,  when  the  lady 
of  the  house  came  up  to  our  group  and  said,  “Now 


14 


MY  FIRST  BALL 


[CHAP. 


I think  we  may  begin  a quadrille.”  I believed  my- 
self to  be  armed  at  all  points  as  a cavalier  for  the 
ballroom,  and  I remember  looking  carefully  round 
and  fixing  my  affections  on  a fine,  handsome  crea- 
ture, really  old  enough  to  be  my  mother,  and  de- 
liberately walking  up  to  her,  buttoning  my  gloves 
as  I went,  I made  her  what  I believed  to  be  a very 
polished  bow,  and  said,  “ May  I have  the  pleasure 
of  this  quadrille?”  and  well  do  I remember  my  thrill 
of  horror  when  she  looked  at  me  with  the  most 
beaming  good  nature  in  her  face  and  said,  “Yes, 
my  dear,  if  you  like.”  I felt  as  if  the  ground 
would  open  and  swallow  me  up,  to  be  called  “my 
dear”  in  this  fashion. 

My  bosom  friend  at  this  period  of  my  life  was  a 
cousin  who  was  three  years  my  senior,  Willy  Buckley 
by  name.  We  were  always  together  whenever  we 
could  be.  At  this  time  there  came  to  England  a 
French  family  with  special  introduction  to  my  family. 
M.  Granet  was  a pastor  of  the  French  Protestant 
Church  in  New  Orleans,  with  one  fair  daughter 
Eugenie.  To  our  eyes  (those  of  Willy  and  myself) 
she  was  overwhelmingly  fair,  but  we  never  con- 
fessed our  hidden  passion  to  each  other.  From 


I] 


MY  FIRST  LOVE 


15 


the  beginning  I felt  that  the  weight  of  his  three 
years  was  likely  to  tell  greatly  in  favour  of  my  rival, 
as  my  cousin  now  became,  for  the  favour  of  Eugenie 
Granet.  The  climax  came  at  a party  given  in  this 
very  house.  I was  on  the  look-out  for  the  young 
lady,  but  as  it  happened  I first  opened  the  door  to 
my  cousin.  My  heart  sank  within  me.  He  was 
arrayed  in  a new  jacket  and  waistcoat  of  bright 
blue  and  shining  white  trousers,  altogether  a most 
effective  costume.  From  that  moment  I felt  that 
all  was  up  with  me  and  that  I should  never  be 
able  to  retrieve  the  lost  ground  he  now  occupied. 
Fate  ordained  a pathetic  close  to  my  first  love  story. 
Eugenie’s  father  was  suddenly  recalled  with  his 
family  to  New  Orleans,  and  after  a time  she  was 
seized  with  one  of  those  terrible  South  American 
fevers  and  passed  away. 


CHAPTER  II 

Drawing  proclivities — The  Mulreadys — My  career  settled — Sass’s 
Academy  — Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  — William  Hilton  — Early 
pictures — Medal  for  the  antique — Damson  cheese. 

MY  drawing  proclivities  increased  day  by  day, 
and  I may  be  said  to  have  acquired  the 
position  of  portrait  draughtsman  in  ordinary  to  the 
united  families  of  Callcotts  and  Horsleys  by  the 
time  I was  eleven  or  twelve  years  old.  My  chief 
workshop  in  those  days  was  the  garden  in  front  of 
the  Callcott  houses,  and  “ the  throne"’  for  my  sitters 
was  the  garden  roller,  which  gave  the  desired 
elevation,  though  it  was  of  somewhat  precarious 
stability.  One  of  my  most  assiduous  sitters 
was  my  dear  mother,  and  another  her  youngest 
brother,  William  H.  Callcott,  dear,  delightful  uncle 
and  most  excellent  man.  At  that  time  he  was 
engaged  to  the  lady  who  became  his  wife,  and 
his  demands  for  portraits  of  himself  to  forward  to 


16 


chap,  ii]  FIRST  LESSONS  IN  DRAWING  17 

her  were  very  frequent.  One  favourite  mode  with 
him  of  inciting  me  to  increased  energy  and  care 
with  these  wonderful  works  of  art  was  putting  his 
hands  in  both  pockets  and  creating  sounds  of 
metallic  ringing  with  the  loose  coinage  therein,  and 
saying,  “ Now,  John,  if  you  take  extreme  pains  with 
this  drawing,  I shall  give  you — ah ! something  that 
will  astonish  you,”  but  as  far  as  my  memory  serves 
me,  I never  had  more  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  coinage  than  was  revealed  by  the  clinking  sound 
before  mentioned. 

At  that  time  I had  a few  lessons  in  drawing 
from  Paul  Mulready,  the  eldest  son  of  William 
Mulready,  the  admirable  artist  and  Royal  Academ- 
ician. His  father  had  been  settled  for  some  time 
as  a leathern  breeches  maker  in  a shop  in  Bays- 
water,  which  was  situated  in  the  Bayswater  Road 
between  Silver  Street  and  the  Mall.  The  family 
had  come  over  from  Ireland  some  time  before. 
The  Mulreadys  were  a wild  lot,  devoted  to  the 
pugilistic  art,  and  father  and  son  would  often 
practise  it,  in  the  shop  among  the  leather  breeches, 
stripped  to  the  waist  and  giving  their  blows  in  right 
down  earnest. 


i8 


MULREADY’S  MARRIAGE 


[chap. 


William  the  son  married  the  sister  of  John  Varley, 
the  water-colour  painter,  with  whose  family  the 
Mulreadys  held  frequent  intercourse.  When  he 
was  sixteen  he  and  his  ladylove  went  to  a clergy- 
man to  arrange  for  their  marriage,  but  the  worthy 
priest  was  astounded  at  their  juvenile  aspect  and 
absolutely  declined  to  marry  them,  saying  they  must 
at  all  events  wait  for  another  year.  This  they  did, 
and  were  then  married.  The  outcome  of  that  union 
was  the  addition  of  four  sons  to  the  Mulready 
family — Paul,  Michael,  William,  and  John.  The 
marriage  was,  however,  never  a really  happy  one ; 
dissensions  soon  arose,  and  in  the  course  of  tinie 
reached  such  a pitch  that  a separation  was  advised 
even  by  their  best  friends,  chief  of  whom  was  David 
Wilkie,  who  grieved  much  in  his  good  honest 
Scotch  way  over  their  differences. 

Mulready  himself  behaved  like  the  courteous 
gentleman  he  always  was.  He  took  rooms  for  his 
wife  and  appointed  a time  when  he  personally 
conducted  her  to  them,  she  taking  his  offered  arm. 
During  the  progress  they  met  their  friend  David 
Wilkie,  who  held  up  his  hands  in  delighted  as- 
tonishment at  the  sight,  then  grasped  theirs  while 


' 


^JcUAer  Qlh.Sc. 


C CVillicurb  , 4QreaJy.$LA. 


II] 


HIS  GENEROSITY 


19 


he  exclaimed  in  his  broad  Scotch,  “ Now,  my  dear 
friends,  this  is  just  what  I wanted  to  see,”  little 
thinking  that  at  that  moment  they  were  about  to 
part  literally  for  ever;  for  though  they  both  lived  to 
a great  age,  in  the  Kensington  district,  it  is  believed 
that  they  never  met  again,  though  she  used  to  watch 
for  his  passing  and  always  told  her  grandchildren 
when  she  had  seen  him. 

I remember  a characteristic  incident  in  later  days 
which  thoroughly  showed  Mulready’s  kind  heart. 
We  were  near  neighbours  and  used  often  to  meet, 
and  if  ever  I wanted  advice  over  my  pictures,  I 
used  to  get  it  from  him  as  well  as  from  Callcott. 
On  one  such  occasion  he  answered  my  request  for 
his  counsel  with  such  overflowingly  warm  protests 
of  affection  (he  was  impulsively  Irish  in  his  ways), 
that  in  a spirit  of  fun  I said  in  answer  to  his 
repeated  “ Why,  I would  do  anything  for  you, 
John,”  “Well,  would  you  lend  me  ten  pounds?” 
His  kind  face  was  at  once  clouded,  his  speech 
broken  at  the  thought  of  my  imagined  poverty, 
and  he  stammered  out  his  willing  acquiescence. 
Naturally  I felt  overcome  at  the  result  of  my 
poor  joke,  and  had  difficulty  in  explaining  that 
I had  not  meant  my  request  seriously. 


20 


A FIGHTING  FAMILY 


[chap. 


Mulready  was  in  his  own  fashion  an  affectionate 
and  excellent  father,  but  after  this  painful  break  in 
the  family  circle  the  four  high-spirited,  wild  Irish 
boys  were  of  necessity  much  left  to  themselves  ; 
and  as  they  were  all  of  the  same  pugnacious  nature, 
a good  deal  of  their  time  seems  to  have  gone  in 
fighting  each  other  and  the  Kensington  gamins. 

Their  house  was  cold  and  comfortless,  as  one  would 
expect,  and  partly  to  warm  themselves,  apparently, 
they  developed  a strong  taste  for  dancing  of  a some- 
what original  character,  including  the  most  amazing 
performance  of  “ cutting  capers,”  with  which,  when 
they  went  to  dances  a little  later  on,  they  electrified 
their  partners.  They  would,  perhaps  in  the  process 
of  “ setting  ” in  a quadrille,  spring  high  in  the  air, 
performing  several  astonishing  capers  and  some- 
times alighting  on  their  partners’  toes.  (The  figures 
in  Mulready’s  inimitably  painted  and  life-like  picture, 
called  “The  Fight  Interrupted,”  were  painted  from 
these  boys.) 

I remember  later  on,  when  they  were  grown  up, 
and  all  of  them  earning  their  living  by  drawing  and 
teaching  drawing,  that  on  one  occasion  I was  walk- 
ing with  Sir  Augustus  Callcott  and  Mulready  pere 


II] 


PAUL  AND  THE  DROVER 


21 


under  the  beautiful  elm  trees  that  then  skirted  the 
pathway  in  front  of  the  Callcott  Houses,  when  a 
drover  passed  by  with  his  cattle,  one  of  which  he 
was  ill-treating  in  a horrid  fashion,  Mulready  turned 
round  and  began  taking  the  brute  severely  to  task 
for  his  cruelty,  on  which  the  drover  retaliated  by 
a stream  of  abuse  mingled  with  threats  of  “ knock- 
ing his  head  off.”  Mulready’s  fighting  days  were 
over,  but  just  then  there  appeared  on  the  scene  his 
son  Paul,  immaculately  dressed,  as  somehow  these 
young  men  always  were,  and  portfolio  under  arm,  on 
his  way  to  give  a drawing  lesson.  Hearing  the 
position  of  affairs,  without  one  word  but  “Take 
this  ” to  his  father,  as  he  thrust  the  portfolio  in  his 
hands,  he  “went  for”  the  drover,  who,  to  his  as- 
tonishment, found  himself  doubled  up  and  in  the 
hedge  in  no  time,  while  Paul,  unruffled,  resumed  his 
portfolio  and  went  on  his  way. 

It  is  sometimes  quite  amazing  to  me  how  on  the 
whole  I have  got  through  life,  I may  say  satisfac- 
torily, with  so  little  of  what  is  usually  known  as  educa- 
tion. It  evidently  became  early  apparent  that  it  was 
the  artistic  bent  in  my  nature  which  would  pay  best 
for  cultivation,  and  on  the,  to  me,  important  question 


22 


I DECIDE  TO  BE  AN  ARTIST  [cHap. 


of  where  and  how  this  should  be  done,  Mulready 
and  Callcott  were  solemnly  consulted,  and  a morn- 
ing was  fixed  for  them  both  to  come  to  this  old 
house  to  interview  myself  and  my  parents  on  the 
subject. 

It  is  a curious  fact  that  though  I had  got  it 
quite  into  my  mind  that  I was  to  be  an  artist,  my 
views  had  recently  been  somewhat  unsettled.  A 
young  relative  of  my  father  s,  who  was  in  the  Navy, 
had  come  to  stay  with  us  for  a week  or  two,  during 
which  time,  under  his  guidance,  I had  taken  vigor- 
ously to  ship-drawing,  the  effect  of  which  was  not 
to  suggest  my  turning  my  attention  to  marine  art, 
but  to  becoming  a sailor.  Therefore,  when  these 
two  great  Royal  Academicians  put  it  seriously  to  me 
whether  I really  felt  inclined  to  take  to  the  study  of 
so  difficult  a profession  as  painting,  I exhibited  con- 
siderable hesitation  in  reply,  evidently  to  my  parents’ 
supreme  astonishment.  However,  some  guardian 
angel  was  at  hand,  who  kept  me  to  my  original 
intention,  and,  after  a mental  struggle,  I answered 
in  the  affirmative. 

The  consultation  was  soon  finished.  I had  come 
in  with  my  hand  full  of  marbles,  and  when  Sir 


II] 


SASS’S  ACADEMY 


23 


Augustus  had  departed,  Mulready  stayed  and  had 
a vigorous  game  with  me  of  “ knuckle-down  ” on 
the  drawing-room  floor. 

They  were  unanimous  in  the  decision  that  I must 
be  placed  in  Sass’s  Academy,  then  the  great  pre- 
paratory school  for  the  Royal  Academy.  The 
school  was  in  Charlotte  Street,  Bloomsbury  Square, 
and  the  day  of  my  first  appearance  there  I bowled 
a hoop  all  the  way  to  Tyburn  Gate,  now  the  Marble 
Arch,  where  was  a turnpike  gate  right  across  the 
road,  and  on  my  stating  my  case  to  the  keeper 
thereof,  he  allowed  me  to  leave  my  hoop  in  his 
charge  till  my  return.  I was  then  in  my  thirteenth 
year.  The  school  was  a large  building  with  a long- 
corridor,  off  which  were  the  little  rooms  which  Sass 
called  the  “Studii”  for  the  separate  use  of  the 
advanced  students,  and  at  the  end  was  a large  round 
room  with  a vaulted  roof.  Sass  was  eaten  up  with 
vanity,  and  had  a most  unwarrantably  high  opinion  of 
his  merits  as  an  artist,  which  were  absolutely  nil ; 
he  used  periodically  to  send  a new  portrait  of  him- 
self by  himself  to  the  Royal  Academy,  and  out  of 
kindliness  it  was  sometimes  hung  and  entered  in 
the  catalogue  as  the  “ portrait  of  a gentleman/’ 


24 


AN  ACADEMY  CUSTOM 


[chap. 


On  one  occasion  a critic  altered  the  title  : “ This  is 
not  the  portrait  of  a gentleman,  it  is  the  portrait  of 
Sass.”  He  wore  the  most  extravagant  waistcoats 
of  cut  velvet,  and  his  manner  was  extraordinarily 
pompous.  In  showing  visitors  the  galleries  he 
always  carefully  informed  ladies  that  the  chief  upper 
studio  already  referred  to  was  built  on  a reduced 
scale  in  the  protv'-^’ons  of  the  Pantheon  at  Rome, 
in  which  he  asserted  that  all  Roman  ladies  liked  to 
be  seen  by  their  lovers,  the  angle  of  light  being 
peculiarly  favourable  to  their  charms. 

There  were  several  small  customs  to  be  observed 
on  ones  entry  as  a student.  One  of  these  was  the 
enforced  production  of  half  a crown,  which  was 
expended  in  pastry  obtained  in  Great  Russell  Street 
close  at  hand.  This  proceeding  was  considerably 
resented  by  some  of  the  students,  who  considered  it 
childish  nonsense.  One  of  these,  a man  of  a certain 
age,  refused  to  conform  to  this  practice,  and  to 
show  it  was  not  for  the  sake  of  the  half-crown,  he 
slipped  the  coin  through  a hole  in  the  floor,  which 
caused  some  of  us  to  lose  half  a day  in  trying  to 
recover  it,  which  we  ultimately  did. 

The  schools  were  not  infrequently  visited  by  the 


II] 


SIR  THOMAS  LAWRENCE 


25 


President  of  the  Royal  Academy,  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence,  in  connection  with  whom  I must  here 
relate  a story  concerning  the  first  and  the  most 
grievous  of  my  professional  disappointments. 

Hanging  upstairs  at  the  present  moment  is  a 
drawing  I made  of  my  aunt  Sophy,  the  fair 
“ Sweet  Pea,”  which  1 venture  to  think  is  a very 
creditable  performance  for  a youngster  of  twelve. 
My  great-uncle  Callcott,  to  whom  I took  it  for  his 
criticism  one  morning,  was  unusually  pleased,  and 
being  a man  of  very  few  words,  especially  when 
praise  was  required,  said,  “ Now,  John,  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence  is  coming  to  a party  here  this  evening, 
and  by-the-by  your  father  and  mother  are  ex- 
pected ; you  can  come  too,  and  bring  this  drawing 
with  you,  and  I will  ask  Lawrence  to  look  at  it.” 

I need  not  say  that  I left  in  a heart-jubilant 
condition,  and  all  went  well,  the  drawing  was  shown 
as  proposed,  and  nothing  could  be  kinder  than  the 
interest  Sir  Thomas  showed  in  it.  He  finished  by 
inviting  me  to  breakfast  with  him,  and  then  re- 
ferring to  a portly  pocket-book  bound  in  limp  scarlet 
leather  with  strap  and  buckle,  out  of  which  I 
remember  a whole  budget  of  notes  fluttered  down, 


2 6 


A GREAT  DISAPPOINTMENT 


[CHAP. 


dainty-looking  missives  on  tinted  paper,  invitations  of 
all  kinds,  appointments  with  sitters,  etc.,  he  said,  “ I 
fear  I have  no  vacant  morning  till  this  day  fort- 
night. Come  then  to  breakfast  at  nine  o’clock,  and 
we  will  have  an  hour  or  two  with  my  Old  Master 
drawings.”  His  collection,  as  most  of  my  readers 
will  know,  was  a most  valuable  one. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  I thought  of  nothing  else 
but  the  prospect  of  this  delightful  morning,  which 
was,  of  course,  an  immense  honour  to  a child  as 
I was,  but  alas ! it  never  came  off.  A few  mornings 
before  the  date  the  courtly  and  handsome  President 
was  found  dead  in  his  painting-room. 

Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  was,  it  may  not  be  known, 
the  son  of  an  innkeeper  at  Bath,  and  had  received 
a very  limited  education  ; his  appearance  was  most 
imposing,  and  George  IV.,  when  Prince  Regent, 
observed  that  he  was  the  most  distinguished  gentle- 
man in  manner  and  appearance  about  his  Court. 

I was  an  industrious  student,  and  won  various 
prizes  and  medals  awarded  by  the  Society  of  Arts 
and  other  societies.  I remember  distinctly  receiving 
one  of  these  prizes  at  the  hand  of  a very  well-known 
character,  “Joey  Hume,”  a member  of  Parliament 


II] 


ADMISSION  TO  THE  R. A. 


27 


famous  for  his  economic  action  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  the  inventor  of  the  fourpenny-piece, 
hence  called  “Joeys,”  now  dismissed  from  the 
coinage  of  our  country. 

After  I had  been  at  Sass’s  for  two  years,  going 
only  three  days  a week  and  studying  with  a tutor  at 
home  for  the  other  three,  I sent  in  drawings  for 
admission  to  the  Royal  Academy  as  probationer. 
In  this  I was  happily  successful,  and  at  once  began 
to  make  drawings  for  the  studentship,  which  I 
obtained  at  the  end  of  the  three  months  allotted  for 
the  necessary  drawings. 

William  Hilton,  one  of  the  most  excellent  of  artists 
and  men,  was  then  Keeper  of  the  Royal  Academy. 
I and  all  my  fellow-students  retain  the  most  grate- 
ful recollections  and  profound  respect  for  his  memory. 
At  that  time  the  encouragement  of  living  artists 
was  small  indeed,  except  in  the  case  of  one  or  two 
favoured  ones,  and  Hilton  being  always  devoted  to 
the  highest  class  of  historical  painting  had  a hard 
struggle  for  existence.  He  was  most  faithful  in  the 
performance  of  his  academic  duties,  and  showed 
great  personal  interest  in  the  students,  especially  in 
those  who  were  working  hard  and  taking  pains. 


28 


“RIVAL  MUSICIANS” 


[chap. 


At  this  period  I commenced  a little  mild  exhibit- 
ing in  the  form  of  sending  a small  picture  or  two 
to  the  British  Institution.  One  that  is  now  in  the 
Sheepshanks  Gallery  in  South  Kensington,  called 
“ Rival  Musicians,”  attracted  Hilton’s  notice,  and 
on  the  varnishing  day  he  spoke  to  me  in  the  kindest 
way  about  it,  and  said  he  looked  to  me  to  be  a really 
successful  artist.  In  the  autumn  of  that  year  I 
joined  the  competition  in  the  antique  school  of  the 
Royal  Academy.  I may  mention  that  in  alternate 
years  only  one  medal  was  given,  and  this  was  the 
“ one-medal  year,”  and  the  competition  in  those 
days  was  very  keen  and  the  competitors  numerous. 

On  the  night  of  the  distribution  of  honours  we 
were  hanging  about  before  we  went  into  the  great 
theatre  where  they  were  presented. 

The  access  to  Hilton’s  rooms  at  Somerset  House 
opened  on  to  the  great  staircase,  and  when  he  came 
out  to  go  up  to  the  theatre,  we  all  drew  up  and 
received  him  with  the  genuine  love  and  respect  we 
felt.  As  he  walked  hurriedly  past  us,  and  catching 
my  eye,  he  said,  “ Well,  Horsley,  are  you  very 
anxious  ? ” and  when  he  passed  on,  the  student  to 
whom  I had  been  talking  said,  “Well,  now,  Horsley, 


II] 


MEDAL  IN  THE  ANTIQUE 


29 


I am  sure  you  have  got  the  medal,  the  Keeper 
would  not  have  said  that  otherwise.”  Then  came 
the  anxious  moment,  for  no  one  knew  anything 
about  the  award  till  the  actual  moment  of  presenta- 
tion came,  when  the  successful  candidate  must  be 
mentioned. 

The  one  student  of  whose  competition  I was 
really  afraid  was  a dear  friend  of  mine.  Though 
three  years  my  senior,  he  is  a more  active  man  now 
than  I am.  He  is  one  of  the  many  men  whom  I 
have  known  whose  artistic  career  has  been  spoiled 
by  the  possession  of  a small  competence  and  simple 
habits.  To  another  of  these  I have  sometimes  said 
in  old  days,  “ If  you  had  only  been  a little  vicious, 
wicked,  and  extravagant,  my  dear  fellow,  and  got 
rid  of  that  wretched  income  of  yours,  so  that  you 
really  stood  in  weekly  awe  of  your  butchers  and 
bakers,  you  would  have  been  a most  notable  painter 
of  landscapes.” 

To  return  to  the  award.  Our  worthy  President, 
Sir  Martin  Archer  Shee,  p.  r.a.,  had  a very  pre- 
sidential aspect,  for  he  always  appeared  in  knee 
breeches  and  silk  stockings  at  all  Academy 
functions,  duly  groomed  with  full  attention  to  shirt- 


30 


MY  REWARD 


[CHAP.  II 


frills,  etc.  His  voice  was  excellent,  and  delivery 
good.  So  when  it  came  to  the  moment  that  he 
said  in  solemn  tones,  “The  medal  in  the  antique  is 
awarded  to  Mr.” — then  a long  pause — “ John  ” — my 
rival’s  name* — another  pause — “Callcott” — safe  at 
last — “ Horsley,”  I was  greeted  with  genuine  cheers 
of  congratulation  by  my  fellow-students,  and  I 
eventually  walked  home  with  a man  whom  I then 
knew  but  little,  but  who  became  my  bosom  friend 
until  his  death,  Thomas  Webster,  afterwards  Royal 
Academician,  the  most  genial  of  friends  and  painters. 
He  and  I took  our  way  home  together,  and  great 
was  the  pleasure  of  my  father  and  mother  when  I 
announced  my  success.  I should  say  that  in  that 
walk  I never  took  my  hand  off  the  medal  in  its 
case,  which  I tightly  clasped  till  I handed  it  over  to 
my  dear  mother.  She  in  the  warmth  of  her  heart 
offered  me  the  varied  contents  of  her  larder,  from 
which  I was  to  choose  my  supper  ! Damson  cheese 
was  my  selection ; the  simplicity  of  this  choice 
amusingly  illustrates  my  juvenility  on  the  occasion. 
I was  then  approaching  my  fifteenth  birthday. 


CHAPTER  III 


Theatrical  performances — “King  Death 55 — Barry  Cornwall — Sophy’s 
opera  — Sir  Benjamin  Hawes  — A runaway  steed — Walking 
powers — Strauss  waltzes — Our  walk  to  Windsor. 

were  greatly  given  to  theatrical  perform- 


ances, which  were  of  an  original  kind,  as 


we  scorned  acting  anything  that  we  had  not 
ourselves  composed,  and  just  at  the  time  of  one  of 
Mendelssohns  visits  my  sister  Sophy,  then  aged 
sixteen,  had  finished  an  opera  called  The 
Magician , for  which  I painted  the  scenery  and 
performed  the  title  role.  My  scenery,  painted  on 
some  of  the  domestic  sheeting,  was  carefully  pre- 
served by  my  admiring  mother  putting  it  away  : it 
was  discovered  but  a very  few  years  ago,  of  course 
rotten  to  the  core,  so  that  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  destroy  it  all.  The  performance  was  to 
consist  of  the  opera  followed  by  an  afterpiece  called 
“ King  Death,”  a short  poem  of  Procter’s  (whose  nom- 


31 


32 


PROCTER'S  46 KING  DEATH  ” 


[chap. 


de-plume  was  “ Barry  Cornwall  ”),  which  Chevalier 
Neukomm  had  set  to  music.  The  Chevalier 
Neukomm  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Talleyrand, 
who  was  at  this  time  Ambassador  for  France  to 
England,  and  living  in  Hanover  Square.  Neu- 
komm was  supposed  to  be  acting  as  Private 
Secretary  to  Talleyrand  in  a friendly  capacity  and 
was  living  with  the  Prince.  He  was  a most 
courteous  old  gentleman,  and  a very  industrious 
and  confident  musical  amateur.  He  thought  him- 
self a great  musician,  which  he  was  not,  but  he 
wrote  some  popular  songs,  such  as  the  music  for 
Barry  Cornwall’s 

“ The  sea,  the  sea,  the  open  sea, 

The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free  ! ” 

My  singing  voice  having  at  this  time  broken  from 
its  youthful  treble,  was  just  settling  down  into  a 
baritone,  and  this  song,  “ King  Death,”  was  one  of 
my  chevattx  de  bataille : its  capacity  for  dramatic 
rendering  will  be  shown  by  this  quotation  : — 

“ King  Death  was  a merry  old  fellow, 

Who  sat  where  no  sun  could  shine, 

And  lifted  his  hand  so  yellow 
For  a draught  of  coal-black  wine. 


Ill] 


ISAMBARD  BRUNEL’S  PART 


33 


“ There  came  to  him  many  a maiden 
Whose  eyes  had  forgot  to  shine, 

And  widows  with  grief  o’erladen 
For  a draught  of  his  coal-black  wine. 

Hurrah  ! hurrah  ! hurrah  ! 

Hurrah  for  the  coal-black  wine  ! ” 

Sophy  was  dressed  as  King  Death  in  a black 
crape  robe,  upon  which  was  sewn  an  outline  skele- 
ton in  silver  braid  ; she  wore  a black  crown,  and  in 
this  character  received  the  dramatis  persona. 

Isambard  Brunei,  who  married  my  sister  Mary, 
and  who  was  an  invaluable  help  on  these  theatrical 
occasions,  somewhat  startled  us  by  insisting  on 
having  the  part  of  the  widow  assigned  to  him.  He 
did  it  most  admirably  and  to  the  extraordinary 
amusement  of  the  whole  audience.  But  we  never 
reckoned  with  the  possibility  of  its  not  being  in 
harmony  with  the  feeling  of  the  poets  wife,  who 
instead  of  recognising  the  whole  thing  as  an  amusing 
childish  freak,  felt  it  to  be  a serious  insult  to  her 
husband’s  poetic  fame;  and  whilst  the  audience  was 
engaged  in  frantic  applause  at  the  conclusion  of  this 
woeful  afterpiece,  she  rose  up  in  her  wrath  and  in  a 
few  most  unpleasant  sentences  uttered  her  protest 


34 


SIR  BENJAMIN  HAWES 


[CHAP. 


and  stalked  out  of  the  room,  accompanied  by  her 
charming  and  good-natured  husband,  who  had 
laughed  uproariously  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  the 
whole  thing,  and  who  protested  in  vain  against  her 
attitude.  Their  gifted  daughter  Adelaide  also  did 
her  best  to  soothe  her  mothers  wounded  feelings, 
but  with  no  effect. 

Mendelssohn,  I remember,  had  shared  the  great 
Georgian  sofa,  which  was  called  the  royal  box,. with 
the  Procters.  He  was  greatly  pleased  with  the 
opera,  and  borrowed  the  score  from  the  juvenile 
composer. 

My  sisters  marriage  with  the  son  of  Sir  Isambard 
Brunei  had  brought  our  family  into  intimate  connec- 
tion with  the  Hawes,  the  eldest  of  the  Brunei 
daughters  having  married  Benjamin,  afterwards  Sir 
Benjamin  Hawes.  His  father  was  a soap-boiler  in 
the  district  of  Lambeth,  and  his  grandfather  was 
Dr.  B.  Hawes,  a distinguished  physician,  who 
founded  the  Royal  Humane  Society  in  the  early 
part  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  got  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  to  open  publicly  the  Receiving 
House  in  Hyde  Park.  Two  pictures,  by  Smirke,  r.a., 
illustrate  this  event. 


Ill] 


SOAP-BOILING  AND  CULTURE 


35 


It  is  quite  curious  to  connect  so  much  charm  and 
culture  with  the  business  of  soap-boiling,  but  the 
house  itself  was  a striking  exemplification  of  the 
incongruity.  The  house  stood  in  the  Commercial 
Road,  Lambeth,  the  haunt  of  costers  and  their 
carts,  and  the  smell  of  saponaceous  matter  on  soap- 
boiling days  was  terribly  trying  and  never  to  be 
forgotten ; but  once  inside,  the  house,  with  its  books, 
pictures,  and  works  of  art  generally,  was  one  of  the 
most  delightful  possible.  The  works  of  Patrick 
Nasmyth,  the  great  landscape  painter,  brother  of 
the  “steam-hammer  man,”  were  a great  feature  on 
the  walls.  Sir  Benjamin  was  very  much  interested 
in  that  able  sculptor,  Lough,  and  he  had  a really 
very  fine  group  of  horses,  as  described  in  the  play 
of  Macbeth — - 

“ And  Duncan’s  horses — a thing  most  strange  and  certain, 
Beauteous  and  swift — the  minions  of  their  race, 

Turned  wild  in  nature,  broke  their  stalls,  flung  out, 
Contending  ’gainst  obedience,  as  they  would  make 
War  with  mankind. 

’Tis  said  they  eat  each  other. 

They  did  so,  to  the  amazement  of  mine  eyes 
That  look’d  upon ’t.” 

Sir  B.  Hawes  had  two  brothers,  Thomas  and 


36 


EQUESTRIAN  EXPERIENCES 


[CHAP. 


William,  and  Thomas  had  the  entire  management  of 
the  stables  for  the  family  and  the  trade,  being  saga- 
cious in  horseflesh  and  a mighty  hunter.  He  was  an 
energetic  officer  in  the  Surrey  Yeomanry  to  boot, 
and  known  for  his  laconic  speech  and  decision  of 
character.  “John,  can  you  ride?”  he  asked  one 
day.  “Well,  when  I was  in  Somersetshire  last 
year  I mounted  a pony,  who  promptly  ran  away 
with  me  and  soon  threw  me,”  I replied,  “and  this 
happened  several  times  during  my  visit.”  “A  good 
beginning,”  said  Hawes.  “Come  at  three  to-morrow, 
and  I will  give  you  a riding  lesson.”  This  was  an 
enchanting  prospect.  When  I arrived  punctually 
to  the  minute,  an  old  grey,  of  whose  prowess  in  the 
hunting-field  I had  heard  much,  was  brought  out. 
I knew  better,  despite  momentary  qualms,  than  to 
question  friend  Tom’s  judgment  in  choosing  a nag 
of  over  sixteen  hands  for  my  first  essay,  so  I pro- 
ceeded to  climb  up  the  animal’s  side  with  the  aid  of 
the  groom,  and  we  went  at  a walk  down  the  Com- 
mercial Road,  Lambeth,  across  Westminster  Bridge, 
and  by  the  Birdcage  Walk  to  Hyde  Park  and  Rotten 
Row.  The  old  horse  knew  his  master’s  voice  and 
was  obedient  to  his  lightest  word,  and  much  as  he 


Ill] 


A RUNAWAY  STEED 


37 


desired  to  join  the  galloping  nags  that  passed  us  in 
the  Row,  he  kept  to  his  sober  paces,  and  I reached 
home  without  any  mishap.  On  the  next  occasion 
I was  allowed  to  trot,  and  very  soon  I was  careering 
up  and  down  the  Row  in  wild  gallops,  for  in  those 
days  no  policemen  regulated  the  pace  of  the  riders. 
I never  think  of  Tom  Hawes  and  the  old  grey  with- 
out grateful  remembrance  of  his  riding  lessons ; 
being  able  to  accept  a “mount”  from  friends  has 
enabled  me  to  enjoy  many  a beautiful  place  which 
I should  never  otherwise  have  seen.  One  art  I did 
not  learn  was  swimming,  and  I now  consider  that 
that  is  one  of  the  things  that  every  boy  should  learn 
on  the  first  opportunity. 

One  afternoon  we  had  just  left  Barge  House,  and 
I was  mounted  upon  a young  horse,  while  Tom  was 
riding  the  grey.  My  steed  was  fidgety,  and  at  the 
moment  I had  carelessly  dropped  the  snaffle  rein 
while  I fumbled  over  a glove  button,  when  one  of 
those  pests,  an  organ-grinder,  suddenly  started  his 
instrument  of  torture ; this  was  too  much  for  the 
nerves  of  my  horse,  who  started  violently,  and  then 
bolted  down  Stamford  Street  and  across  Blackfriars 
Bridge.  I snatched  at  the  rein  and  inwardly  groaned 


38 


THE  CATASTROPHE 


[CHAP. 


at  the  omission  of  the  double  bridle;  all  this  was  the 
work  of  a moment.  Meanwhile  Tom  Hawes,  not 
yielding  to  the  desire  of  the  old  grey  to  join  the 
chase,  which  he  well  knew  would  only  increase  the 
panic  of  my  runaway,  pulled  up  and  followed  cau- 
tiously, awaiting  what  he  feared  was  an  inevitable 
catastrophe.  Luckily  I did  not  lose  my  presence  of 
mind  ; I soon  found  myself  in  sight  of  the  Black- 
friars  Bridge  Road,  which  was  full  of  carts  and 
carriages;  my  feet  were  pushed  home  in  the  stirrups, 
and  I was  deliberately  sawing  with  the  snaffle  at  the 
mouth  of  my  scared  beast  in  the  earnest  hope  of 
stopping  his  wild  career,  but  without  any  effect.  I 
knew  what  the  result  must  be  if  I charged  the  mass 
of  vehicles  ahead,  so  I determined  to  throw  myself  off 
in  the  comparatively  empty  Stamford  Street.  I shook 
my  feet  free  of  the  stirrups,  and  clinging  to  the  pom- 
mel, was  in  the  act  of  sliding  off  the  beast’s  shoulder 
when  he  took  a clean  jump  with  me  from  the  road 
on  to  the  pavement,  where  there  was  an  iron-tipped 
post,  under  the  shelter  of  which  was  an  old  Irish- 
woman’s apple- stall.  He  got  rid  of  me  so  cleverly 
that  I was  decanted  on  the  cap  of  the  post,  which, 
being  pointed,  caught  the  waistband  buckle  of  my 


Ill] 


TOM  HAWES1  ADVICE 


39 


trousers  and  tore  the  leg  of  the  garment  from  the 
waist  to  the  ankle.  Thence  I fell  flat  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  the  steed  jumped  over  my  carcase.  With 
youth  in  my  favour  and  mercy  in  attendance,  I was 
on  my  feet  at  once,  to  find  Tom  with  my  runaway 
in  hand,  having  caught  him  when  he  had  finally 
shaken  me  free.  Recognising  the  old  grey  and  his 
master,  he  had  no  objection  to  joining  their  com- 
pany again  and  returning  to  Barge  House,  which 
was  close  at  hand.  There  I was  examined  by  T. 
Hawes  and  was  found  to  be  uninjured,  which  was 
really  a marvel,  for  there  were  all  the  elements  of 
frightful  agony  and  sudden  death  in  the  accident. 

Curiously  enough,  all  this  had  taken  place  in 
front  of  a doctor’s  house,  who,  with  a proper  eye 
to  business,  came  running  out  to  offer  his  services, 
but,  being  utterly  uninjured,  all  I could  do  for  him 
was  to  direct  his  attention  to  the  old  lady  at  the 
apple  stall,  who,  overcome  by  her  fright,  had 
swooned  away  among  the  debris  of  her  stock-in- 
trade.  I need  not  say  there  was  considerable 
excitement  among  the  onlookers.  Tom  was  quite 
equal  to  the  occasion  ; when  I led  my  nag  to  the 
stable,  he  thus  adjured  me  : “ Now,  you  look  here, 


40 


THE  FIRST  OMNIBUS 


[chap. 


Mr.  John,  if  you  don’t  turn  up  to-morrow  afternoon 
to  ride  that  same  horse,  only  he  shall  have  a curb 
as  well  as  a snaffle,  I will  never  give  you  a mount 
again  as  long  as  you  live.” 

That  was  truly  wise  counsel,  which  needless  to 
say  I followed  out. 

I was  born  with  a malformed  right  foot,  which 
however  was  successfully  operated  on  within  a few 
hours  of  birth  by  Sir  Richard  Keate,  one  of  the 
chief  surgeons  of  St.  George’s  Hospital,  and  I was 
afterwards  treated  to  an  iron  boot.  This,  I can 
remember,  I was  able  to  dispense  with  when  I was 
nine  years  old,  and,  indeed,  I was  a champion  runner 
at  Slater’s  School,  already  mentioned,  and  soon  be- 
came an  indomitable  walker.  Walking  was  then 
the  only  means  of  locomotion  for  the  impecunious. 
These  were  the  days  before  the  appearance  of 
omnibuses  in  the  streets  of  London.  I remember 
clearly,  as  an  event  of  yesterday,  seeing  the  first 
omnibus  on  the  Kensington  Road  with  the  name  of 
Shillibier  upon  it.  It  was  drawn  by  three  horses 
abreast,  and  was  said  to  be  the  speculation  of  a 
French  company.  It  was  certainly  the  beginning 
of  a mighty  change  in  the  London  streets.  The 


Ill] 


MY  LOVE  OF  WALKING 


4i 


general  public  were  dependent  upon  the  “stage- 
coaches,” abbreviated  specimens  of  the  long  coaches 
that  went  long  distances  into  every  corner  of 
England  (the  United  Kingdom). 

Residents  on  the  Great  Western  Road,  as  the 
road  running  through  Kensington,  Hammersmith, 
and  Hounslow  was  called,  might  avail  themselves 
of  splendidly  horsed  four-horse  coaches,  if  there 
happened  to  be  vacant  seats.  The  fare  from 
Kensington  Church  to  the  White  Horse  Cellar, 
Piccadilly,  was  is.  60!.,  and  this  was  prohibitive  to 
most  young  fellows.  When  I became  an  Academy 
student,  I used  to  walk  the  entire  distance  to  and 
fro  to  my  Alma  Mater  at  Somerset  House  twice 
each  day,  for  I had  so  great  a dislike  to  the  cook- 
shops  that  1 preferred  to  come  home  for  the  midday 
meal,  and  this  made  the  distance  I had  to  cover 
about  eight  or  ten  miles.  I have  no  recollection  of 
ever  feeling  overtired.  As  a companion  in  the 
morning  I usually  had  a member  of  the  Barlow 
family  in  Kensington  Square.  We  used  to  take 
a straight,  unbroken  road  to  Apsley  House  inside 
the  park.  There  would  sometimes  be  others,  of 
course,  taking  the  same  route,  and  we  used  to  amuse 


42 


A WALKING  RACE 


[chap. 


ourselves  by  walking  races  with  men — whom  we 
overtook  or  who  overtook  us — with  whom  perhaps 
we  did  not  exchange  a single  word,  so  that  we 
called  our  contests  “ silent  races.” 

One  morning  with  considerable  difficulty  we  out- 
paced a man  older  than  ourselves,  and  when  I was 
coming  home  in  the  evening,  rather  late  (it  being 
lecture  night),  but  in  brilliant  moonlight,  I happened 
to  see  the  same  man  in  front  of  me.  He  was  walk- 
ing at  a great  pace,  and  I had  to  put  on  some  extra 
steam  to  overtake  him.  The  recognition  was 
mutual,  and  apparently  we  both  made  up  our  minds 
to  win  or  die  in  a final  attempt  at  victory.  Almost 
step  for  step,  sometimes  one  gaining  a little  and 
sometimes  the  other,  all  the  way  from  Apsley  House 
we  went  along  by  the  side  of  the  solid  brick  wall 
which  enclosed  the  park,  which  was  closed  at  eight 
o’clock.  It  was  a raised  footway,  and  where  Rut- 
land Gate  now  stands  there  was  a large  old-fashioned 
roadside  inn,  and  on  the  path  there  were  wooden 
posts  to  prevent  the  footway  from  being  used  by 
carts  or  carriages.  At  this  point  we  were  abreast, 
and  I could  hear  his  bellows  pumping  fearfully,  as 
very  probably  he  heard  mine,  but  neither  of  us 


Ill] 


STRAUSS  WALTZES 


43 


would  “throw  up  the  sponge.”  At  last  the  entrance 
to  Kensington  bore  in  view,  and  I was  beginning 
to  think  that  I must  give  in,  when  to  my  inex- 
pressible satisfaction  he  staggered  suddenly,  uttering 
a noise  between  a groan  and  a cry,  with  the  words, 

“ D it ! you  can  have  your  own  way,”  and  sank 

to  the  ground.  But  I was  so  completely  done  that 
I scarcely  knew  how  to  struggle  on  till  I turned  in 
a few  more  yards  the  curve  that  hid  me  from  his 
view.  Then  I dropped  on  to  a doorstep,  puffing 
and  panting  and  helpless.  Here  I remained  a full 
hour  before  I had  courage  to  walk  the  little  uphill 
bit  to  High  Row,  fearing  all  the  time  that  my 
antagonist  would  overtake  me  and  see  by  how  little 
I had  gained  the  victory.  I was  perfectly  well  the 
next  morning,  and  I sincerely  trusted  he  was. 

Perhaps  I was  even  more  devoted  to  another 
form  of  exercise — the  Terpsichorean  art,  and  to 
what  seems  to  me  its  highest  development,  that  of 
waltzing.  The  waltz  was  introduced  during  the 
Regency,  but  it  took  some  years  to  acclimatise  it. 

The  period  of  my  greatest  activity  in  dancing 
was  when  the  Viennese  family  of  Strauss  pervaded 
Europe,  and  could  supply  any  number  of  ballrooms 


44 


A GOOD  RESOLUTION 


[chap. 


with  bands  of  perfect  performers,  any  one  of  whom 
was  sufficiently  trained  to  occupy,  as  occasion 
served,  the  post  of  conductor  to  the  others.  I 
remember  the  first  invitation  to  a ball  we  received 
with  the  magic  words  in  the  corner,  “ Herr  Johann 
Strauss  and  his  band  from  Vienna  will  attend.” 

By  this  time  my  sister  Sophy  had  stayed  more 
than  once  with  the  Mendelssohn  family  in  Germany, 
and  had  fully  acquired  the  art  of  the  waltz. 

The  great  pace  and  the  marked  time  were  the 
striking  features  of  the  Strauss  bands,  and  to  dance 
to  them  really  required  considerable  skill  and 
practice ; but,  having  been  carefully  instructed  by 
Sophy,  we  became  great  proficients,  and  on  these 
happy  occasions  would  have  thought  it  terrible  to 
waste  a bar  of  one  of  the  Strauss  waltzes,  and  we 
danced  so  vigorously  and  so  long  that  we  would 
creep  home  worn  out  with  excitement  and  exercise. 
Cabs  were  unknown,  and  it  was  therefore  on  our 
weary  feet  that  we  had  to  wend  our  way  home  from 
Mayfair  to  Kensington.  On  one  such  occasion, 
when  a great  “pal”  of  mine,  Willy  Buckley,  and 
I were  wearily  going  home,  just  when  the  sun  was 
rising  gloriously  and  the  birds  were  singing  in  the 


Ill] 


ITS  ACCOMPLISHMENT 


45 


parks,  we  registered  a vow  to  change  our  method 
of  existence,  and  to  begin  our  days  at  the  time  we 
were  then  in  the  habit  of  ending  them,  the  small 
hours  of  the  morning. 

We  carried  out  our  reform  for  one  memorable 
day  at  least.  We  left  our  homes  about  two  in  the 
morning,  walked  from  Kensington  to  Windsor  by 
Datchet.  Here  we  breakfasted,  spent  the  morning 
in  St.  George’s  Chapel,  where  a great  festival 
service  was  being  held,  lunched  at  the  hotel,  hired 
hacks,  and  rode  for  the  whole  afternoon  in  the 
Great  Park.  Dinner  followed  after  hearing  the 
band  play  on  the  Castle  Terrace,  and  then  back  to 
London  by  coach,  which  deposited  us  in  Silver 
Street,  Bayswater,  about  midnight. 

Buckley  was  an  athletic  individual,  and  some- 
where about  this  time  distinguished  himself  by  a 
single-handed  encounter  with  thieves.  He  and  his 
brother  and  sisters  were  living  in  a house  in  the 
Bayswater  Road,  where  they  had  moved  from  the 
Mall,  and  here  they  were  happy  owners  of  a charm- 
ing garden  with  an  orchard  of  a most  productive 
kind.  “ Portobello  Lane,”  which  bordered  the  gar- 
den, gave  too  ready  access  to  dishonest  people, 


46 


ONE  AGAINST  THREE 


[CHAP. 


and  most  of  the  fruit  was  stolen  year  after  year. 
Much  was  hoped  from  the  good  offices  of  the  new 
police  force,  but  the  robberies  still  went  on. 

One  night,  when  my  friend  had  an  attack  of  sleep- 
lessness, he  bethought  him  that  he  would  go  out 
and  see  whether  any  thieves  were  about. 

Arming  himself  with  a lockless  old  pistol,  he 
quietly  stole  forth,  and  was  rewarded  by  hearing 
stealthy  footsteps  and  whispering  voices.  Getting 
nearer,  he  saw  one  hulking  rascal  holding  a sack 
with  its  mouth  wide  open  to  receive  from  a Ribstone 
tree  the  plunder,  which  another  fellow  among  the 
branches  was  throwing  down.  Yet  another  was 
standing  on  the  fence  watching ! My  gallant  cousin 
never  hesitated,  but  clutching  his  make-belief  pistol 
he  seized  the  big  sackfiller  by  the  throat,  hitting 
him  violently  on  the  head  with  the  handle  of  his 
weapon.  The  rest  took  to  their  heels.  Buckley 
never  let  go  of  his  man,  but  pushing  him  before 
him,  hustled  him  through  the  house  without  dis- 
turbing its  inmates,  through  the  paved  yard  and  the 
entrance  gate,  outside  which  he  found  one  of  the 
newly  invented  constables  leaning  against  one  of 
the  also  newly  invented  lamp-posts,  fast  asleep. 


Ill] 


BUCKLEY  AT  BOW  STREET 


4 7 


He  was  soon  awakened,  and  the  thief  was  delivered 
over  to  his  care.  Buckley  was  highly  commended 
by  the  magistrate  when  the  case  was  brought  before 
the  court  at  Bow  Street,  which  was  not  for  some 
days,  as  my  cousins  somewhat  drastic  treatment  of 
the  prisoner  had  made  surgical  care  necessary. 


CHAPTER  IV 


Portrait  of  Moscheles — John  Sheepshanks — Mulready’s  vanity — 
Blackheath  dinners — Elizabeth — Wells  of  Redleaf— Edwin  Land- 
seer’s tour  de  force— The,  Pride  of  the  Village — Vernon — Maclise. 

HEN  I was  about  sixteen  I painted  two 


kitcat  portraits  of  Ignace  Moscheles  and 
his  wife,  who  was  a very  pretty  woman.  Both 
these  portraits  were  sent  to  the  Royal  Academy 
Exhibition  at  Somerset  House,  held  in  the  rooms 
in  which  the  Institution  was  installed  when  founded 
by  H.M.  King  George  III.  in  1786,  Somerset 
House  ranking  in  those  days  as  one  of  the  royal 
palaces.  They  were  accepted,  but  ultimately  only 
one  of  them  was  hung.  This  rejection,  if  one  may 
call  it  so,  was  the  only  one — I may  be  pardoned  the 
remark — that  any  of  my  pictures  were  called  upon  to 
undergo.  My  disappointment  was  that,  governed, 
no  doubt,  by  technical  merits,  they  rejected  the 
pretty  woman  and  hung  the  unpretty  man. 


CHAP.  IV]  MR.  JOHN  SHEEPSHANKS 


49 


My  first  exhibited  subject  picture,  “ The  Rival 
Musicians,”  was  hung  on  the  walls  of  the  British 
Institution,  whence  it  was  sold  to  Mr.  John  Sheep- 
shanks, who  was  then  coming  to  the  front  as  an  art 
collector.  The  son  of  a clothier  at  Leeds,  he  had  a 
strong  natural  taste  for  art,  which  led  him  much  into 
the  society  of  painters.  He  first  began  to  collect 
etchings,  and  used  to  boast  that  he  possessed  a 
proof  of  one  of  Isaac  Ostade’s  famous  etchings,  in 
which  the  pig  had  three  more  scratches  on  its  back 
than  in  any  other  known  copy.  He  came  up  to 
reside  in  the  neighbourhood  of  London,  so  that  he 
might  be  near  his  friends  the  artists,  and  settled  him- 
self in  a charming  house  at  Blackheath  Park,  where 
he  invited  me  to  go  and  see  him.  The  house  was 
surrounded  by  a beautiful  garden,  where  Sheep- 
shanks devoted  himself  to  floriculture,  and  became 
a noted  contributor  to  horticultural  exhibitions  at 
Chiswick  and  South  Kensington,  and  distinguished 
as  a prize  winner.  On  his  succeeding  in  inventing 
a new  geranium  the  judges  christened  his  exhibited 
specimen  Sheep shanksiana  grandiflora.  He  took 
up  certain  painters  with  great  enthusiasm,  and  had 
many  of  their  works  in  his  collection.  For  Mulready 


50 


MACLISE  FALLS  SHORT 


[chap. 


he  had  a profound  admiration,  both  as  a man  and 
as  a painter. 

Now  Mulready  entirely  shared  in  Sheepshanks’ 
estimate  of  his  own  merits,  but  he  was  given  to 
making  slashing  criticisms  on  his  fellow-artists,  the 
other  habituds  of  Sheepshanks5  hospitable  gatherings, 
whilst  he  himself,  it  must  be  admitted,  was  greedy 
for  praise.  He  once  set  himself  to  paint  a small 
picture  in  oil  of  a group  of  trees  hanging  over  a 
pond  close  to  the  gate  of  Sheepshanks’  garden. 
He  worked  at  this  for  many  days  with  elaborate 
care,  and  Sheepshanks  invited  us  all  to  come  and 
admire  it,  Maclise  among  others.  While  unable  to 
greatly  admire  this  laboured  treatment  of  a subject 
not  specially  suited  to  Mulready’s  genius,  Maclise 
contrived  to  say  a good  many  complimentary  things, 
although  it  was  evident  that  the  butter  had  not  been 
laid  on  thick  enough  for  Mulready’s  taste.  Coming 
away  with  me,  Maclise  stopped  on  the  doorstep  and 
exclaimed  in  dramatic  tones,  ‘‘My  God!  I have 
exhausted  every  known  form  of  eulogy  over  that 
man  and  his  work,  and  yet  I feel  I have  lamentably 
failed  to  satisfy  him.” 

I remember  on  my  first  visit  to  Sheepshanks  at 


IV] 


44 YOUTH  AND  AGE” 


5 


Blackheath  walking  up  through  the  highly  cultivated 
garden  and  knocking  at  the  entrance,  when  the 
door  was  opened  by  a strange  and  original-looking 
old  man.  He  had  on  a straw  hat,  the  rim  of  which 
was  parting  company  with  the  crown  and  lopping 
down  on  his  face  so  that  one  brilliant  eye  gleamed 
through  the  rent.  He  received  me  in  the  kindest 
way,  and  asked  me  various  questions  as  to  what  I 
was  doing.  I told  him  I was  painting  another 
picture  about  the  same  size  as  the  one  he  had 
already  bought  from  me.  He  cheerfully  told  me  he 
would  come  and  look  at  it.  When  next  in  town  he 
at  once  settled  to  buy  it,  and  plunging  his  hand 
into  his  very  shabby  coat-pocket,  produced  a cheque- 
book, and  asking  for  a pen  and  ink,  wrote  the  cheque 
to  pay  for  it  on  the  spot,  as  was  his  invariable 
custom.  This  picture  was  called  “ Youth  and  Age,” 
and  represents  an  aged  countryman  going  into  church 
with  his  little  grandchild  leading  the  way.  My  model 
for  this  child  was  my  young  cousin,  daughter  of  the 
Rev.  John  Wall  Buckley,  with  whom  I had  been 
staying  at  Rotherfield,  in  Sussex.  She  is  the  sister 
of  Sir  Henry  Buckley,  the  judge,  and  of  the  scientist, 
Miss  Arabella  Buckley  (now  Mrs.  Fisher).  The  old 


52 


BLACKHEATH  DINNERS 


[chap. 


man  was  the  village  sexton,  and  my  first  introduction 
to  him  was  a curious. one.  Mr.  Buckley  was  away,  and 
I was  wakened  one  morning  when  it  was  still  dark  by 
a handful  of  gravel  thrown  against  my  window.  I 
opened  it,  and  looking  out  into  the  misty  darkness, 
could  just  discern  the  old  sexton  who  had  come  to 
explain  that  he  was  about  to  toll  the  passing  bell. 
The  custom  still  lingered  of  ringing  this  bell  during 
the  dying  hour,  in  order  to  protect  the  soul  from  the 
assaults  of  evil  spirits  in  its  passage  from  this  world 
to  the  next. 

Both  these  early  pictures,  “ The  Rival  Musicians  ” 
and  “Youth  and  Age,”  are  in  the  Sheepshanks  Col- 
lection in  the  South  Kensington  Museum. 

My  friendship  with  Sheepshanks  increased  rapidly, 
and  he  established  (this  became  a very  charming 
arrangement)  weekly  Wednesday  dinners  at  three 
o’clock.  To  a certain  number  of  painters  he  gave 
a general  invitation  to  put  in  an  appearance  at  that 
hour,  not  even  requiring  any  intimation  as  to 
whether  they  were  coming.  His  repasts  were  of 
the  simplest,  but  everything,  eatables  and  drink- 
ables, perfect  of  its  kind. 

Among  other  intimate  friends  in  his  neighbour- 


IV] 


THEIR  FREQUENTERS 


53 


hood  was  a dear  widow  lady,  Mrs.  Bill,  who  was 
like  a second  mother  to  me,  and  used  to  call  me  her 
“Johnny  of  Johnnys.”  I used  often  to  go  to  her 
house  for  the  Tuesday  nights,  and  return  to  London 
on  Wednesday  evening  in  company  with  my  painter 
friends,  who  also  frequented  these  dinners.  The 
most  notable  of  these  friends  were  Mulready,  Edwin 
Landseer,  Charles  Robert  Leslie,  who  with  Peter 
de  Hooghe,  were  the  “ gods  of  my  idolatry  ” in  the 
art  world. 

The  afternoons  teemed  with  interest.  Nothing 
could  be  more  curious  than  the  contrast  in  power  of 
telling  stories  amongst  these  distinguished  men  I 
have  mentioned.  The  contrast  between  our  host  and 
some  of  his  guests  on  this  point  was  marked.  Sheep- 
shanks was  extremely  irritable,  although  perfectly 
good-natured,  and  his  stories  came  rushing  from  his 
tongue  in  a perfect  avalanche  of  words.  He  often 
could  not  restrain  his  impatience  when  the  narrators 
were  too  slow  of  speech  for  him  ; especially  was  this 
the  case  with  that  dearest  and  most  amiable  of 
men,  Charles  R.  Leslie,  who  always  told  quite 
inimitable  anecdotes  full  of  humour  and  of  kindness, 
but  somewhat  lengthy. 


54 


CHARLES  R.  LESLIE 


[chap. 


Well,  the  good  Sheepshanks  would  listen  for  a 
time  with  great  attention,  but  then  he  would 
suddenly  dash  in,  and  check  the  whole  course  of 
Leslie’s  speech,  upon  which  Leslie  in  the  calmest 
way  would  cross  his  legs  and  wait  with  heroic  calm 
till  Sheepshanks  had  winded  himself,  and  would 
then  come  out  in  the  quietest  way  with,  “ Well,  as 
I was  saying,”  and  would  go  on  imperturbably  and 
complete  his  narration.  He  was  a king  of  men  in 
temper  and  kindliness  of  disposition  ; his  art  was  as 
delightful  as  he  was  himself ; he  was  the  only  man 
who  could  depict  Shakespeare  quite  satisfactorily. 
His  absolutely  delightful  renderings  of  all  the 
varieties  of  Shakespeare’s  characters  should  be 
hung  together  to  do  full  justice  to  them.  There 
are  interesting  records  in  some  of  his  pictures  which 
delineate  his  personal  friends.  For  instance,  in 
“ Perdita  Distributing  her  Flowers”  the  duke  was 
painted  from  Constable,  for  whose  magnificent  genius 
Sheepshanks  had  a profoundly  just  veneration,  and 
the  figure  next  the  duke  from  Robinson,  the  cele- 
brated line-engraver. 

Sheepshanks  had  a wonderful  servant  who  looked 
after  everything,  and  was  trained  never  to  take 


IV] 


“ELIZABETH” 


55 


a sixpence  offered  her  by  any  guest.  Elizabeth 
was  well  known  to  us  all.  One  of  the  most  regular 
guests  was  Edward  Cooke,  the  marine  painter,  and 
he,  like  all  of  us,  being  considerably  exercised  as  to 
the  impossibility  of  administering  money  presents 
to  Elizabeth,  bethought  him  to  instruct  his  mother 
and  sisters  to  buy  certain  articles  of  female  attire 
which  might  be  useful  or  desirable,  and  presented 
her  with  them.  She  said  nothing  at  the  moment, 
but  the  next  morning  when  he  got  up  he  found  his 
little  offerings  of  feminine  gear  decorating  his  own 
dressing-table,  and  after  breakfast  Sheepshanks 
talked  most  gravely  to  him,  and  assured  him  that 
it  was  quite  useless  to  attempt  to  give  any  presents 
to  his  servants.  “ I rigidly  make  it  good  to  them 
to  the  full,”  he  said,  “ and  it  is  my  arrangement 
with  them  when  they  enter  my  service.” 

Another  art  collector  contemporaneous  with  Mr. 
Sheepshanks  was  Mr.  Wells,  of  Redleaf,  Penshurst, 
where,  when  he  settled  down,  after  being  for  years 
a sea-captain  in  the  East  India’s  Company’s  service, 
he  created  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  interesting 
gardens  in  England. 

He  was  a keen  sportsman,  and  naturally  con- 


56 


MR.  WELLS  OF  REDLEAF 


[CHAP. 


ceived  the  greatest  admiration  for  Edwin  Land- 
seer’s wonderful  pictures.  Most  of  his  artistic 
property  was  sold  after  Mr.  Wells’s  death,  amongst 
it  the  portrait  of  his  favourite  dog,  which  used 
to  occupy  a central  position  in  the  hall  at  Red- 
leaf.  Now  Landseer  was  certainly  not  a little 
of  a procrastinator.  Long  after  he  had  promised 
to  paint  the  portrait  of  the  dog,  and  a place  for  it 
had  been  reserved,  the  space  remained  unoccupied. 
At  last  Wells,  who  was  very  anxious  on  the  subject, 
began  to  feel  much  annoyed,  and  one  day  showed 
it  by  some  sharp  expression.  Landseer  then  pulled 
up  quickly  and  replied,  “ I know  I have  behaved 
shamefully,  but  I will  come  down  next  Thursday 
and  remain  till  Monday,  and  the  picture  shall  be 
done  before  I leave.”  He  arrived  on  the  Thursday 
just  in  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  his  first  remark 
to  Wells  was,  “ Oh ! your  man  tells  me  you  are 
going  to  drag  the  great  pond  to-morrow,  hurray ! 

I am  just  in  time,  that  is  a subject  I have  often 
meant  to  paint,  and  1 shall  be  delighted  to  get  any 
number  of  sketches  done.”  Wells  made  no  remark 
in  answer  to  this,  under  the  circumstances,  some- 
what unpleasing  announcement.  Landseer  did  a 


IV] 


LANDSEER’S  TOUR  DE  FORCE 


57 


capital  day’s  work  over  the  pond-dragging,  as  he 
had  anticipated.  The  next  morning,  Saturday, 
when  he  came  down  to  breakfast,  his  first  words 
were,  “ Why,  Mr.  Wells,  I hear  you  are  going  to 
shoot  such-and-such  a wood  to-day.  Why,  I have 
been  looking  forward  to  that  for  a year  or  two,” 
and  so  it  went  on  till  Sunday  morning.  Now  Wells, 
like  a good  country  gentleman,  was  very  particular 
about  all  his  guests  accompanying  him  to  the  morn- 
ing service,  and  said  to  Landseer,  to  whom  he  had 
scarcely  spoken  for  two  days,  “ I suppose  you  are 
going  to  church?”  ‘‘Well,”  replied  Landseer,  “I 
have  got  a terrible  headache ; I think  you  must 
excuse  me.”  “ Oh,”  said  Wells,  quite  testily,  and 
almost  in  a blaze,  “ Do  just  as  you  think  best ; you 
know  well  enough  by  this  time  that  this  is  Liberty 
Hall,  for  you,  at  all  events.”  “Thank  you,”  said 
Landseer,  “and  I am  going  to  ask  you  to  let  me 
keep  Charles  Mathews  with  me  to  amuse  me.”  To 
this  Wells  vouchsafed  no  answer,  and  away  the 
people  went,  leaving  these  two  to  their  own  devices. 
The  moment  the  house  was  clear  they  went  to 
another  room,  which  Landseer  had  specially  ar- 
ranged for  the  purpose.  The  head  gamekeeper 


58 


MR.  VERNON 


[CHAP. 


was  there  with  the  dog,  and  Charles  Mathews 
assisted  in  holding  him  when  wanted,  and  did  his 
part  in  amusing  Landseer  up  to  the  hilt,  and  the 
picture  was  painted,  finished,  and  framed  on  the 
wall  when  the  house-party  returned  from  morning 
service. 

When  the  picture  was  sold  at  Christie’s  years 
afterwards,  I saw  written  on  the  stem  of  a tree  in 
the  background  of  it,  “ Painted  at  Redleaf  in  two 
hours  and  a half.”  The  delighted  astonishment 
which  prevailed  at  the  time  this  tour  de  force  was 
accomplished  may  be  imagined. 

One  of  my  pictures,  “ The  Pride  of  the  Village,” 
now  in  the  Tate  Gallery,  formerly  in  the  Vernon 
Collection,  was  bought  by  Mr.  Vernon,  and  I well 
remember  the  manner  of  its  purchase,  characteristic 
of  the  man  who  was  originally  a job-master. 

My  show  day  for  the  Academy  was  just  over, 
and  my  mother  and  I were  talking  in  the  drawing- 
room, when  another  ring  came,  and  I,  looking  over 
the  bannisters  in  the  growing  dusk,  saw  our  dear 
friend  Sir  David  Wilkie  coming  up  the  staircase. 

“ I have  come  to  see  your  picture,  Horsley,”  he 
said,  “ I have  heard  so  much  talk  about  it.” 


IV] 


HE  BUYS  MY  PICTURE 


59 


By  the  light  of  a couple  of  candles  he  examined 
it  long  and  earnestly  and  spoke  most  kindly.  The 
next  day  Mr.  Vernon  came,  sent  by  him,  and  after 
some  preliminaries  asked  the  price.  The  modest 
price  of  fifty  pounds  had  been  settled  in  family 
conclave,  and  this  I named.  “ Including  the  frame, 
I suppose  ? ” was  his  answer,  to  which  I assented. 
There  was  a good  deal  of  humming  and  hawing, 
and  eventually  he  asked  the  price  of  the  frame, 
which  I gave  him  as  far  as  I knew  as  five  pounds. 
“Well,  you  see,  that  is  not  my  pattern  of  frame,  and 
so  you  will  not  object  to  letting  me  have  it  without 
one;  that  would  make  the  price  forty -five  pounds,  I 
presume.” 

This  arrangement  he  had  evidently  conceived 
with  some  care  ; it  was  unexpected,  but  as  I was  a 
greenhorn  in  such  matters  myself,  I let  the  discussion 
drop,  and  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  saving  his  five 
pounds  and  of  leaving  me  with  the  frame  on  my 
hands.  When  he  was  buying  a little  picture  of 
Webster’s,  the  price  was  quoted  as  thirty  guineas, 
and  he,  cheque-book  in  hand,  paused  to  say:  “You 
see,  there  are  no  guineas  nowadays.”  “ No,” 
answered  Webster,  “thirty-one  pounds  ten  shillings 


6o 


VERNON  AS  A HOST 


[chap. 


will  do  just  as  well.”  So  this  time  he  did  not  gain 
by  his  manoeuvre.  A jobber  he  certainly  was,  by 
nature  as  well  as  by  trade. 

Maclise  and  several  other  members  of  the 
Academy  were  staying  at  the  country  house  of 
Mr.  Vernon,  who,  later  on,  left  his  pictures  to  the 
nation.  A very  uninteresting  time  they  had  of  it, 
as  may  well  be  believed  by  all  those  who  knew  any- 
thing of  Vernon,  whose  apparent  interest  in  art  was 
really  used  simply  as  a means  of  lifting  him  out  of 
obscurity  into  some  sort  of  locus  standi  in  the  world. 
He  had  drifted  into  being  an  almost  confirmed 
invalid,  and  never  joined  his  guests  till  dinner-time, 
but  still  thought  much  of  the  pleasures  of  the  table, 
and  would  hobble  on  crutches  into  the  dining-room 
before  dinner  to  make  a special  sauce  for  the  wild 
duck.  Many  stories  might  be  told  about  him  which 
are  best  left  untold. 

Nothing  was  arranged  for  the  amusement  of  the 
house-party  on  the  occasion  of  Maclise’s  visit, 
and  they  were  wandering  about  in  purposeless 
fashion  when  Maclise  was  missed,  and  it  was  agreed 
that  they  should  go  in  search  of  him  for  lack  of 
other  occupation.  After  searching  all  over  the 


IV] 


MACLISE  AND  THE  DUCKS 


61 


grounds,  they  found  him  on  the  sloping  bank  of  a 
distant  duck-pond,  lying  at  full  length  with  his 
hands  under  his  head  and  gazing  earnestly  at  the 
varieties  of  the  duck  tribe,  who  were  denizens  of 
the  pond. 

The  searchers  hailed  him  with  a cheer,  and 
demanded  what  on  earth  he  had  been  about,  on 
which  he  replied  : “ I’ve  been  looking  for  hours  at 
those  ducks  and  thinking,  By  God,  how  they  get 
through  the  day ! ” and  he  then  proceeded  most 
graphically  to  describe  their  struggles  and  squabbles 
over  the  straws  and  scraps  on  the  surface  of  the 
water,  and  made  out  a most  quaint  comparison 
between  the  ducks’  struggles  and  their  own  in  trying 
“to  get  through  the  day”  with  such  a host  as 
Mr.  Vernon. 

Vernon,  however,  had  a sense  of  humour  ; he  was 
staying  at  Cartwright’s,  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and 
there  was  among  the  guests  a young  man  whose 
appetite  was  certainly  formidable.  Vernon  re- 
marked one  day  at  dinner  in  his  most  pompous 
manner  : “ My  dear  young  friend,  you  inherit  the 
gifts  of  both  your  father  and  mother  in  the  way  of 
appetite,  for  one  of  them  ate  a great  deal  and  the 
other  was  a very  long  time  about  it.” 


CHAPTER  V 

Lady  Callcott — Sir  Augustus  Callcott’s  studio — Distinguished  visitors 
— Greenough’s  review — Sedgwick’s  bon-mot — Visit  to  Cambridge 
— Buckley — Empson  — Peacocke  — University  rows  — Professor 
Smythe — Sam  Cartwright. 

I MUST  now  introduce  quite  a new  figure  on  the 
scene,  Lady  Callcott,  the  wife  of  Sir  Augustus, 
already  mentioned. 

She  was  one  of  the  distinguished  Scotch  family  of 
Dundas.  She  married  early  in  life  a Graham,  a 
captain  in  the  Royal  Navy,  commanding  the  Doris , 
frigate,  in  which  she  sailed  with  him  round  the 
world  (the  privilege  of  taking  his  wife  with  him  was 
then  allowed  a captain,  but  later  legislation  pro- 
hibited this).  She  must  have  been  very  handsome 
in  her  youth,  and  there  is  a charming  head  of  her, 
by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  in  the  National  Portrait 
Gallery,  in  speaking  of  which,  by  the  way,  she 
once  described  to  me  his  mode  of  portrait-painting. 


62 


CHAP.  V] 


LADY  CALLCOTT 


63 


He  began  by  a very  careful  chalk  drawing  of  the 
head  on  the  canvas,  and  then  painted  in  detail  the 
various  features.  He  painted  very  elaborately, 
perhaps  an  eye  only  at  one  sitting,  and  so  on,  in 
a way  totally  opposed  to  Reynolds’s  method. 

Now  to  resume  the  thread  of  my  story.  As 
Mrs.  Graham  she  had  led  an  adventurous  and 
varied  life,  being  amongst  other  things,  for  a time, 
governess  to  the  young  Queen  of  Portugal. 

She  had  written  books  which  had  made  a very 
considerable  reputation  before  she  established  herself 
in  rooms  at  No.  6,  High  Row.  She  soon  became 
a most  popular  member  of  society  in  London  and 
very  intimate  with  the  families  of  Callcotts  and 
Horsleys.  Her  marriage  with  our  great-uncle  soon 
followed,  and  to  his  house  in  the  Mall  was  trans- 
ferred the  brilliant  society  that  had  already  gathered 
round  her  as  Mrs.  Graham.  Both  as  a boy  and  as 
a young  man  I was  continually  there,  sometimes 
doing  work  for  Sir  Augustus,  and  in  this  way  I be- 
came acquainted  with  many  interesting  and  dis- 
tinguished individuals.  For  thirteen  years  previous 
to  her  death  she  was  a confirmed  invalid,  adored 
by  her  husband  and  surrounded  by  friends  and 


64 


DISTINGUISHED  VISITORS 


[CHAP. 


admirers.  She  insisted  always  on  her  husbands 
accepting  the  numerous  social  invitations  to  dinners 
and  receptions,  delighting  in  her  second-hand  share 
in  hearing  all  the  stories  of  the  people  he  had  met, 
for  he  was  a splendid  raconteur . 

Among  her  constant  visitors  was  Campbell,  the 
poet,  and  I remember  hearing  him  make  a capital 
reply  to  a question  put  to  him  after  his  return 
from  Algiers,  then  a most  unusual  trip.  “ Well, 
Campbell,  what  do  you  think  of  Africa  ? ” 

“ It’s  a varra  good  country  to  come  from.” 

He  was  a great  admirer  of  my  aunt  Sophy,  but 
they  were  both  most  unfortunately  shy,  and  he 
never  screwed  up  his  courage  to  propose. 

Landseer  was  another  frequent  visitor.  It  was 
about  this  time  that  he  and  Callcott  painted  the 
picture  called  “ Harvest  in  the  Highlands,”  the 
former  supplying  the  animals  and  figures,  and 
Callcott  the  beautiful  setting  of  Scotch  alpine 
landscape. 

Other  habituds  that  I remember  were  John  Murray, 
“Lord  Byrons  Murray,  my  dear,”  and  his  son,  the 
father  of  the  present  John  Murray,  the  successive 
heads  of  the  firm  of  publishers. 


cSir^4,?(L . Gal Icatt,  GR.^A. 


V] 


GREENOUGfTS  REVIEW 


65 


Lady  Callcott’s  best-known  works  are  the  popular 
Little  Arthurs  History  of  England , which  has 
gone  into  countless  editions,  and  The  Scripture 
Herbal , which  contained  beautiful  woodcuts  of  all 
scripture  flowers  and  plants. 

These  books  were  written  during  her  second 
married  life.  She  also  wrote  for  a learned  society, 
in  response  to  its  invitation,  an  account  of  an  earth- 
quake in  Chili,  of  which  she  had  seen  the  results. 
This  account  brought  down  on  her  a most  virulent 
review  by  Greenough,  the  then  Secretary  of  the 
Geological  Society.  It  was  couched  in  such  violent 
terms  that  it  roused  the  ire  of  her  eminent  soldier 
brother,  Colonel,  afterwards  General,  Dundas,  and 
of  her  gentle  husband,  who  both  talked  in  threaten- 
ing language  of  fighting  him.  It  is  to  be  re- 
membered that  duelling  was  still  in  fashion.  Of 
this  she  would  not  hear,  and,  holding  up  her  hands 
from  the  couch  which  she  was  occupying  in  the 
painting-room,  she  exclaimed,  “ Be  quiet,  both  of 
you,  I am  quite  capable  of  fighting  my  owTn  battles, 
and  intend  to  do  it.”  She  was  as  good  as  her  word, 
and  published  a crushing  reply  to  Greenough ’s 
criticisms. 


66 


SEDGWICK'S  BON-MOT 


[chap. 


In  connection  with  this  I must  mention  an  inci- 
dent in  a visit  that  I at  that  time  paid  to  Cambridge, 
when  I was  introduced  to  that  most  charming  and 
scientific  man,  and  great  geologist,  Adam  Sedgwick, 
as  the  nephew  of  Lady  Callcott. 

His  bright  eyes  gleamed  as  he  said,  “ Ah,  ah, 
poor  Greenough,  he  was  like  Sisera,  delivered  over 
to  the  hands  of  a woman  ! ” 

My  delightful  visit  to  Cambridge  came  about  in 
this  way.  My  second  cousin,  John  Wall  Buckley, 
had  given  up  a business  career  to  take  Holy 
Orders.  He  was  married  to  a Miss  Burton,  and 
the  young  couple  took  up  their  residence  at  Cam- 
bridge, in  order  that  he  should  study  for  his  degree. 
They  asked  me  to  stay  with  them,  and  a gloriously 
interesting  time  I had  of  it. 

Empson,  another  friend  of  the  Callcotts,  hearing 
I was  going  to  Cambridge,  said,  “ Now  I will  give 
you  one  letter  of  introduction,  which  will  do  for  you 
all  you  can  possibly  want.”  It  was  to  Peacocke, 
then  tutor  of  Trinity.  So  the  morning  after  my 
arrival  at  Cambridge  I lost  no  time  in  presenting 
myself  at  Mr.  Peacocke’s  rooms  in  college.  I was 
ushered  into  an  apartment  almost  crowded  with 


(m! t co  ft . 


V] 


CAMBRIDGE  VISIT 


67 


young  men  in  cap  and  gown,  and  there  I waited 
and  waited,  feeling  as  if  I was  in  a dentists  estab- 
lishment, as  they  were  called  out  one  by  one  and 
never  returned,  and  they  looked,  all  of  them,  white 
and  anxious  as  they  were  silently  summoned  by  a 
solemn  servant.  At  last  my  turn  came.  I was  the 
last  man  left,  and  I was  taken  into  Mr.  Peacocke’s 
study.  I found  a tall,  ponderous  man  standing 
with  his  coat-tails  under  his  arms,  leaning  against 
the  mantelpiece  in  truly  Britannic  fashion.  He  was 
plain  of  feature,  but  with  a remarkably  keen  and 
intelligent  expression.  What  struck  me  was  that 
he  did  not  in  the  least  change  his  position,  although 
I was  a complete  stranger,  and  said  in  an  animated, 
almost  savage  manner,  “Well,  sir,  what  is  your 
business  ? ” I luckily  preserved  my  presence  of 
mind,  and  replied,  “ My  business,  sir,  is  to  present 
you  with  this  letter.”  “Letter!  what’s  the  letter 
about  ? ” he  shouted  ; so  I left  him  to  open  it,  and 
never  shall  I forget  the  whole  change  in  the  man. 
He  lifted  himself  up  from  his  reclining  position 
against  the  mantelpiece,  came  to  me,  putting  his 
hands  on  my  shoulders  in  quite  an  affectionate  way. 
“ I beg  ten  thousand  pardons,  my  dear  young 


68 


WHEWELL  AND  SEDGWICK 


[chap. 


friend.  I took  you  for  another  of  those  young 
rascals  whom  I have  been  lecturing  all  this  morn- 
ing, and  sick  to  death  I am  of  the  task.  Now,”  he 
said,  c<  sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it : what  you 
want  to  see,  and  do,  and  so  on.” 

I think  I may  assert  that  no  letter  of  introduction 
ever  written  produced  more  happy  results  than  that 
did.  He  began  by  asking  me  to  come  and  dine 
with  him  as  his  guest  in  Hall  that  night,  after  which 
all  present  retired  to  what  is  known  as  the  combina- 
tion-room. I then  became  aware  of  what  splendid 
men  there  were  up  at  Cambridge  at  the  time. 
Wordsworth,  brother  of  the  poet,  was  then  Master 
of  Trinity.  Whewell  and  Sedgwick  were  both  in 
residence  as  fellows.  The  discussion  that  took 
place  between  those  two  men  I shall  never  forget. 
It  was  a linguistic  duel  to  the  death,  the  victory,  in 
my  humble  opinion,  resting  with  Sedgwick  ; but 
the  power  of  talk  was  marvellous,  and  one  never 
quite  understood  how  one  left  off  talking  to  let 
another  begin.  However,  I found  on  careful 
observation  that  each  one  watched  the  other  until 
he  yielded  to  the  suggestion  of  nature  to  clear  the 
throat,  or  blow  the  nose,  when  instantaneous  ad- 


V] 


A WINE-PARTY 


69 


vantage  was  taken  of  even  this  slight  interruption, 
and  the  other  struck  in  for  a time. 

Before  we  broke  up  that  evening  Peacocke  gave 
me  a general  invitation  to  dine  when  I could  in 
Hall,  giving  him  due  notice. 

I have  never  forgotten  the  impression  made  by 
that  noble  old  Hall  on  such  occasions  as  Gaudy 
Days,  notably  on  All  Saints’  Day,  with  the  magnifi- 
cent plate-decked  board  and  sideboards,  and  the 
low  autumn  sun  streaming  in  at  the  oriel  window, 
illuminating  the  whole  scene. 

The  acquaintances  I made  at  Cambridge  were 
most  varied,  ranging  from  masters  of  colleges  to 
undergraduates.  In  connection  with  the  latter  a 
young,  fine-looking  man,  Vandeleur  Crake,  who 
was  at  Jesus  College,  invited  me  to  attend  a 
wine-party  in  his  rooms  on  November  5th,  which 
day  was  notorious  for  the  usual  Town  and  Gown 
row  in  the  evening.  On  going  to  his  rooms  I 
found  some  eight  or  ten  youths  of  a most  jovial 
and  genial  character  assembled,  and  after  sufficient 
libations  we  all  sallied  forth,  and  I,  walking  between 
two  of  my  friends,  was  suddenly  confronted  by  two 
grave  and  anxious-looking  gentlemen,  who  I was 


70 


UNIVERSITY  ROWS 


[chap. 


informed  were  proctors,  accompanied  by  their 
“bulldogs,”  otherwise  the  University  police.  On 
nearing  them,  one  of  the  proctors,  gazing  almost 
fiercely  at  me,  said,  “ Sir,  are  you  a member  of  this 
University?”  I was  talking  vigorously  at  the 
moment  and  did  not  gather  the  purport  of  his 
question,  and  without  a thought,  and  I daresay  in 
the  same  hasty  manner  as  he  had  used,  I answered 
impetuously,  “Yes,  sir!”  Upon  which  he  fired 
up  and  said  most  excitedly,  “ Then  I have  to  in- 
form you  that  you  must  return  immediately  to  your 
college  and  put  on  cap  and  gown!”  Of  course,  at 
these  times  of  agitation  no  undergraduate  can 
appear  in  the  streets  divested  of  these  University 
insignia,  so  this  little  incident  suggested  immedi- 
ate action  on  my  part,  and  I parted  company  in 
case  of  rows  following,  as  I had  no  cap  or  gown  to 
show  my  quality.  I went  down  the  Kings  Parade, 
where  an  astonishing  sight  met  my  eyes — an  im- 
mense crowd  of  roughs,  flourishing  sticks  in  one 
hand  and  torches  in  the  other,  which  lit  up  the 
lovely  chapel  of  Kings  College  brilliantly,  while  at 
the  other  end  of  the  Parade  there  was  advancing  a 
strong  band  of  gownsmen. 


V] 


PROFESSOR  SMYTHE 


I felt  sure  of  what  was  going  to  happen,  and 
looking  out  for  some  coign  of  vantage,  I mounted 
a flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  door  of  a house.  I 
had  scarcely  reached  the  top  when  the  two  opposing 
forces  met,  and  the  fighting  became  serious.  Before 
long  a strong  body  of  proctors  and  an  increased 
force  of  “bulldogs”  came  up,  and  the  victory,  really 
won  by  the  gownsmen,  ended  in  their  being  carried 
off  bodily  to  their  respective  colleges. 

After  seeing  all  the  above,  I thought  I had  better 
retire  to  my  temporary  home  with  my  cousin,  and 
as  I passed  the  gates  of  Trinity  there  was  a combat 
going  on.  A ring  had  been  formed,  and  I saw  the 
two  combatants  pounding  away  at  each  other,  one 
being  a remarkably  agreeable  fellow — Kirkpatrick 
by  name — who  had  been  my  neighbour  at  the  wine- 
party.  However,  the  bulldogs  were  on  the  spot, 
and  my  friend  was  locked  up  for  the  night. 

In  curious  contrast  to  the  scenes  roughly  sketched 
was  an  incident  the  next  day,  when  I called  upon  an 
ideal  University  professor,  to  whom  I had  a letter  of 
introduction. 

Smythe,  Professor  of  Modern  History  to  the 
University,  was  an  old  bachelor,  with  a fine  head, 


72 


SAM  CARTWRIGHT 


[chap. 


and  gentle  voice  and  manner.  He  had  asked  me 
to  tea,  and  the  tea  apparatus  was  all  ready,  but  the 
Professor  was  entirely  absorbed  in  the  process  of 
airing  his  clean  underlinen  for  the  following  Sun- 
day. The  garments  were  hanging  on  chairs  and 
sofa-ends,  and  looked  strangely  incongruous  among 
the  grave  books,  the  piles  of  papers,  and  other 
indications  of  the  literary  student.  He  talked  on 
charmingly  while  he  finished  his  task,  when  he 
carefully  folded  the  garments  and  conveyed  them 
to  his  bedroom.  I spent  a couple  of  charming 
hours  with  him,  but  this  trivial  incident  remains 
more  clearly  impressed  than  many  more  important 
ones. 

Whilst  at  Cambridge  I found  a very  intimate 
friend  of  former  days,  of  whose  presence  there  I 
was  only  aware  on  the  closing  days  of  my  visit. 
He  was  known  to  his  friends  as  “ Sam,”  the  eldest 
son  of  Cartwright,  the  celebrated  dentist  of  those 
days,  who  was  an  old  friend  of  my  father  s,  a man 
of  a most  extraordinary  physique,  as  tbfe  following 
brief  story  will  show.  He  frequently  dined  at  High 
Row,  and  on  one  occasion,  when  some  ladies  were 
joining  us  in  the  evening,  they  were  shown,  as 


V] 


HIS  PROFESSIONAL  WRENCH 


73 


usual,  into  my  mothers  room  to  take  their  things 
off.  They  somehow  accidentally  double-locked  the 
door,  and  then  could  in  no  way  open  it.  The  help 
of  servants  was  invoked  in  vain,  but  at  that  moment 
we  all  came  up  from  dinner,  and  Cartwright  volun- 
teered to  open  the  door  by  breaking  the  lock,  which 
he  did  by  sheer  strength  of  wrist  and  a wrench,  such 
as  had  been  no  doubt  brought  to  perfection  in  his 
profession,  while  we  all  stood  and  wondered. 

He  often  dined  with  us,  and  when,  at  the  end  of 
the  evening,  we  saw  our  father  talking  to  him  con- 
fidentially in  a corner,  we  children  would  anxiously 
wonder  which  of  two  things  (somehow  it  was  always 
one  or  the  other)  they  were  talking  about.  Was 
our  father  making  an  appointment  with  him  for  one 
of  us,  or  asking  for  a box  at  the  theatre  ? Cart- 
wright seemed  always  to  have  an  unlimited  supply 
of  tickets  for  every  sort  of  theatre,  as  he  was  much 
mixed  up  with  the  theatrical  world,  and  noted  for 
his  extraordinary  liberality.  He  gave  delightful 
parties,  and  encouraged  young  artists  : he — let  me 
chronicle  the  fact — bought  my  first  picture,  one  that 
at  the  time  was  a good  deal  talked  about.  It  was 
called  “ Rent  Day  in  H addon  Hall.” 


74 


A GREAT  SHOCK 


[CHAP.  V 


But  to  return  to  Cambridge  and  Sam  Cartwright. 
I had  to  leave  a day  or  two  earlier  than  I had  anti- 
cipated, and  therefore  was  much  hurried  on  the 
morning  of  my  departure,  but  I made  time  to  rush 
into  his  rooms  to  say  good-bye  to  him.  He  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen  in  his  sitting-room,  so  I pushed 
open  the  door  leading  into  his  bedroom,  and  was 
struck  with  horror  to  find  him  lying  asleep,  covered 
with  blood.  It  was  a horrible  shock,  it  looked 
exactly  as  though  he  must  have  attempted  suicide. 
I was  relieved  by  the  charming  expression  which 
made  my  supposition  impossible,  and  proceeded  to 
wake  him,  which  I did  with  difficulty. 

I got  him  a sponge  and  water,  and  he  gradually 
came  completely  to  himself,  and  by  degrees  it  dawned 
upon  him  that  when  he  was  returning  from  a “wine- 
party  ” some  of  the  town  roughs  met  him  in  the 
narrow  passage  leading  to  his  rooms,  and  insisted 
on  his  taking  the  wall  ; this  had  ended  in  a pitched 
battle,  from  which  he  was  just  able  to  rescue  him- 
self in  time  to  escape  “gateing.” 

During  my  stay  at  Cambridge  I had  the  delight 
of  making  acquaintance  with  that  most  glorious  pile, 
Ely  Cathedral. 


CHAPTER  VI 


Visit  to  Norfolk — R.  M.  Bacon — Cossey — Thomas  Coke,  of  Norfolk 
— Holkham — Lord  Leicester’s  second  marriage — Shooting— 
Shakesperean  enthusiasts  of  Norwich — First  visit  to  Paris — Paul 
de  la  Roche — “The  Hemicycle”— Horace  Vernet — The  Institut — 
Mr.  Seth  Thomson — Leighton  at  the  Athenaeum — Vernet’s  picture 
— Second  visit  to  Paris,  1848 — Brunei — The  Chamber  of  Deputies 
— Louis  Blanc — Notable  members — Louis  Blanc  in  England — 
Sevenoaks — “ The  Crown  ” — Eliza  Cook. 

AMONGST  my  good  fathers  most  cherished 
friends  was  one  whom  he  had  known  from 
his  boyhood,  Richard  Mackenzie  Bacon. 

He  lived  at  Cossey,  near  Norwich,  that  most 
interesting  and  picturesque  old  city,  which  in  those 
days  was  famous  for  the  number  of  interesting  and 
highly  cultivated  families  resident  there. 

To  begin  with,  it  had  a real  school  of  art,  of 
landscape  painting,  such  as  no  other  provincial 
town  in  Great  Britain  or  Ireland  has  ever  possessed, 
before  or  since.  I had  the  pleasure  and  privilege 


75 


76 


R.  M.  BACON 


[chap. 


some  few  years  ago  at  the  Winter  Exhibition  of 
the  Royal  Academy  of  introducing  to  London  and 
the  world  at  large  an  Exhibition  of  works  by 
painters  of  the  Norwich  school,  which  created  a 
strong  sensation. 

Of  this  school  I hope  to  say  more  later  on,  when 
I am  dealing  at  large  with  my  own  art,  but  I want 
to  relate  the  circumstances  of  my  first  visit  to 
Norwich  somewhere  about  1836.  I accepted  an 
invitation  to  Cossey  from  the  aforesaid  R.  M.  Bacon. 
My  host  was  a most  interesting  and  able  man, 
possessing  in  a marked  degree  the  pen  of  a ready 
writer.  He  was  editor,  and  I think  chief  proprietor, 
of  the  Norwich  Mercury , a journal  which  held  a 
very  high  position  in  the  provincial  press  of  Eng- 
land, and  which  took  a leading  part  in  advocating 
the  great  leading  measures  of  the  time,  such  as  the 
Catholic  Emancipation  Act  and  the  Reform  Bill. 
He  was  also  a true  Liberal  in  social  matters  as  well 
as  political. 

He  was  personally  an  agreeable  and  admirable 
man,  of  genial  temper  and  appearance,  and  a culti- 
vated talker.  He  delighted  in  Shakespeare  and  in 
reading  his  plays  aloud,  and  he  might,  I am  con- 


VI] 


THOMAS  COKE  OF  NORFOLK 


77 


vinced,  have  had  a great  career  on  the  stage  as  an 
impersonator  of  Shakespearean  characters,  especially 
as  a refined  interpreter  of  Falstaff.  He  was  on  the 
most  friendly  terms  with  two  of  the  most  noted 
great  people  of  his  county,  the  Lords  Stafford  and 
Leicester. 

With  the  former  he  sympathised  greatly  on  the 
Emancipation  question.  With  the  latter,  Thomas 
Coke  “ of  Norfolk” — the  name  by  which  he  was  so 
well  known,  and  almost  worshipped  by  high  and 
low,  rich  and  poor,  in  his  native  county — the  bonds 
were  those  of  agriculture  and  sport.  It  was  a 
commonly  quoted  saying  of  Coke,  that  he  only 
required  a man  to  possess  two  qualifications  to  be 
his  friend,  he  must  be  a staunch  Whig  and  a good 
shot.  Bacon  himself,  with  sundry  members  of  his 
family,  was  highly  musical,  and  Norwich  was  fore- 
most in  the  cultivation  of  the  most  divine  of  all  the 
arts  ; he  was  also  full  of  sympathy  with  the  sister 
arts  of  painting  and  sculpture. 

Shortly  after  my  arrival  at  Cossey  my  host 
received  an  invitation  from  Lord  Leicester  to  spend 
a few  days  at  Holkham,  and  to  take  me  with  him. 

Holkham  is  an  astonishing  place,  a vast  square 


73 


HOLKHAM 


[CHAP. 


palace  with  towers  at  each  corner,  one  devoted  to 
the  use  of  the  family,  one  to  the  servants,  one  to 
guests.  It  was  stately  enough  to  afford  a separate 
suite  of  rooms  for  each  guest  and  his  servant,  but 
did  not  boast  a bell  in  any  of  the  rooms,  and  I 
remember  well  discussing  the  position  with  a solemn 
but  affable  groom  of  the  chambers,  who  showed  me 
to  my  rooms,  for  naturally  the  young  artist  did  not 
possess  a body  servant.  I said,  after  duly  examin- 
ing my  apartments,  “But  where  are  the  bells?” 
To  which  he  answered,  “Well,  sir,  there  are  none.” 
“ But  supposing  I was  taken  ill,”  I urged,  mention- 
ing a very  unlikely  circumstance,  “what  should  I 
do?”  “Well,  sir,  I really  don’t  know,”  was  the 
only  answer.  No  doubt  he  considered  that  the  ill- 
ness of  a person  who  did  not  possess  a valet  was  a 
matter  of  no  importance. 

Lord  Leicester  had  a grown-up  family  by  his 
first  wife,  and  at  this  time  a young  family  by  his 
second  wife,  who  was  a daughter  of  Lord  Albemarle, 
and  a particularly  charming  creature.  He  was  quite 
blind,  but  retained  his  other  faculties  to  an  astonish- 
ing degree,  and  seemed  quickly  to  form  his  opinion 
of  people  ; he  took  a kind  fancy  to  me.  He  did 


LORD  LEICESTER’S  MARRIAGE 


79 


not  appear  till  he  was  led  into  the  drawing-room 
by  his  valet  a quarter  of  an  hour  before  dinner-time, 
and  he  asked  me  on  each  day  of  my  visit  to  sit 
beside  him,  which  was,  indeed,  a great  privilege, 
for  he  was  full  of  interesting  anecdotes  of  the  Pitt 
and  Fox  time.  During  this  quarter  of  an  hour  the 
|i  small  children  were  allowed  to  rampage  about,  but 
when  they  became  troublesome  the  old  lord  used  to 
tell  them  to  “ Go  and  sit  with  sister  Anne,”  sister 
Anne  being  a quite  middle-aged  matron,  so  that 
the  relationship  appeared  amusingly  incongruous. 

The  story  of  this  second  marriage  must  be  told  at 
length.  Lord  Leicester  had  no  sons  by  his  first 
marriage,  and  his  heir-apparent,  to  whom  he  in- 
tended to  leave  his  vast  property,  was  William 
Coke,  his  nephew,  to  whom  he  was  greatly  attached, 
and  who  was  eminently  qualified  for  the  great 
position  and  possessions. 

In  connection  with  this  I remember  the  on  dit 
that  went  the  round  that  the  nephew  had  diminished 
his  chances  by  a casual  remark.  Right  under  the 
windows  of  Holkham,  in  strange  juxtaposition  to 
its  stately  walls,  were  patches  of  turnips  and  man- 
i golds,  planted  by  order  of  the  eager  agriculturist 


8o 


LORD  LEICESTER’S  WOOING  [cHap. 


and  proprietor,  where  he  could  best  see  for  himself 
how  they  were  doing.  It  was  reported  that  William 
Coke  had  said,  “When  I come  into  the  property 
I shall  do  away  with  all  this  rubbish.” 

But  that  is  only  a report,  whereas  the  exact  story 
of  his  supersession  was  told  by  Lord  Leicester  him- 
self to  Mr.  Bacon.  Before  his  sight  failed,  he  often 
used  to  ride  with  the  daughters  of  Lord  Albemarle, 
his  neighbour,  whose  estates  were  close  by,  and 
they  were  his  firm  friends.  On  one  of  them,  Lady 
Anne,  he  fixed  his  special  attention  and,  I may  say, 
affection,  considering  her  as  an  ideal  prospective 
wife  for  his  nephew  and  mistress  of  Holkham. 

One  day  the  fates  were  propitious  ; Lady  Anne 
alone  came  to  join  his  morning  ride,  and  to  her, 
after  a time,  Lord  Leicester  asked  the  question,  no 
doubt  as  they  surveyed  Holkham  towers:  “Anne, 
my  dear,  how  should  you  like  to  be  mistress  of 
Holkham?”  “There  is  nothing  I should  like 
better,”  was  the  answer  of  Lady  Anne,  drawing  her- 
self up  in  her  saddle ; upon  which  the  old  lord  went 
on:  “Then  I shall  send  my  nephew  William  to  court 
you.”  Lady  Anne  drew  herself  up  still  more,  and 
tightening  her  rein,  replied  calmly  but  very  gravely, 


VI] 


SHOOTING  AT  %HOLKH AM 


8i 


“ I shall  never  be  mistress  of  Holkham  on  those 
terms.”  It  was  then  the  old  gentleman’s  turn  to 
rein  in  his  horse,  and  looking  his  fair  companion 
hard  in  the  face,  said,  “ Why,  you  don’t  mean  to  say 
you  would  marry  me /”  “Yes,  indeed  I would, 
and  nothing  I should  wish  better.”  This  was  all 
the  wooing,  which  was  certainly  not  long  “a-doing”; 
it  may  be  said  to  be  the  shortest  on  record. 

Shooting  at  Holkham  was  a great  annual  function, 
and  there  was  a strong  assemblage  on  the  last  day 
of  September  to  be  ready  for  the  pheasants  the 
next  morning.  There,  of  course,  came  William 
Coke,  and  amongst  the  guests  one  season  a very 
pompous  representative  of  the  House  of  Peers.  In 
the  smoking-room  the  night  before  one  of  the 
party  started  the  subject  of  the  risk  of  getting  shot 
in  covert-shooting.  The  peer  was  long  and  senten- 
tious, as  he  asserted  that  he  considered  the  careless 
shooting  of  one  man  by  another  in  this  way  so 
scandalous  that  if  he  were  thus  shot  he  would  not 
hesitate  to  return  the  fire,  a statement  received 
with  ironical  laughter,  politely  smothered  so  far  as 
possible. 

When  they  were  placed  next  morning,  Bacon 


8 2 SHAKESPEAREAN  ENTHUSIASTS  [chap. 


found  himself,  doubtless  owing  to  his  great  reputa- 
tion as  a shot,  in  a first-rate  position.  Just  beyond 
him  was  the  pompous  peer,  and  beyond  him  again 
was  William  Coke.  They  had  shot  for  some  time, 
all  going  well,  when  suddenly  the  peer  threw  his 
gun  on  the  ground  and  laid  hold  of  his  leg,  exclaim- 
ing, “Good  God!  I am  shot.”  Looking  up  he 
shouted,  “Was  that  you,  Coke?”  Coke,  with  the 
utmost  nonchalance,  drawled  out,  “ Yes,  I believe 
it  was,”  and  putting  his  gun  to  his  shoulder,  “ IVe 
got  the  other  barrel  here.” 

History  tells  no  more. 

I have  mentioned  the  Shakespearean  enthusiasts 
of  Norwich.  They  had  meetings  at  which  the  un- 
fathomable depths  and  heights  of  the  poet  were 
discussed,  and  to  these  you  were  permitted  to  bring 
your  friends  and  visitors.  On  one  occasion  one  of 
the  righteous  enthusiasts  asserted  that  there  was 
nothing  which  Shakespeare  in  some  form  or  another 
had  not  mentioned.  This  sweeping  assertion  roused 
a hitherto  silent  stranger,  who  burst  forth  with, 
“Well,  where  does  he  mention  chimney-sweeps?” 
Upon  which  the  challenger  without  hesitation 
answered,  “ Let  me  ask  you,  sir,  to  what  Lear 


VI] 


“A  ORKARD  BIRD’1 


83 


refers  if  not  to  this  when  he  utters  these  sad  words, 

‘ Down,  down,  thou  climbing  sorrow  ! ’ ” 

I began  my  worship  of  Shakespeare  at  a very 
early  age,  and  Bacon  presented  me  with  one  of  the 
most  delightful  editions  that  I have  ever  seen,  a 
pocket  edition  in  seven  volumes  without  a note 
in  it — the  greatest  luxury  in  the  world — except- 
ing one  at  the  close  of  each  play  by  that  truly  great 
though  carping  spirit,  Dr.  Johnson,  who  alone  has 
expressed  in  words  an  adequate  and  enthusiastic 
estimate  of  Shakespeare’s  powers.  In  discussing, 
I think,  the  play  of  Titus  Andronicus,  he  speaks  of 
the  assertion  that  a great  deal  of  the  play  is  not  of 
Shakespeare’s  writing,  and  winds  up  his  argument 
to  the  contrary  thus  : “ Is  it  not  easier  to  conceive 
that  Shakespeare  sometimes  descended  from  his 
highest  flights  than  that  any  other  man  who  ever 
wrote  ever  ascended  to  his  lowest  ? ” 

One  Norfolk  anecdote  may  come  in  here.  The 
fame  of  Norfolk  dumplings  is  widely  spread.  To 
eat  them  in  perfection  they  should  be  cooked  under 
the  roasting  goose  and  thus  enriched.  My  friend 
Bacon  often  enlarged  upon  their  merits,  and  quoted 
a neighbouring  farmer’s  dictum  on  the  goose  itself 


84 


VISIT  TO  PARIS 


[CHAP. 


with  much  unction  as  well  as  joining  heartily  in  the 
dumpling  encomium. 

“You  see,  sir,  the  goose  is  a orkard  bird,  taint 
enough  for  two  and  a bit  too  much  for  one.” 

I will  not  dwell  on  so  worn  a theme  as  beautiful 
Paris,  and  the  impressions  made  on  such  an  un- 
travelled youth  as  I was,  but  I should  like  to 
record  some  incidents  of  my  first  visit. 

I had  taken  a letter  of  introduction  to  the  dis- 
tinguished artist  Paul  Delaroche,  and  on  calling 
at  his  house  I was  fortunate  enough  to  find  him  at 
home.  He  received  me  with  the  greatest  kindness. 
He  was  then  engaged  on  that  admirable  work  of 
his  in  L’Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts  called  “The 
Hemicycle.”  His  studies  for  all  the  chief  figures 
had  been  done  in  the  open  air  of  sunny  Paris. 
Fame  is  in  the  centre,  and  standing  round  her  are 
characteristic  representatives  of  most  of  the  leading 
artists  in  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture,  from 
early  times  up  to  the  nineteenth  century.  The 
courteous  Frenchman  drew  my  attention  to  the  fact 
that  Fame  was  scattering  her  wreaths  of  honour, 
and  remarked,  “ Une  pour  vous,  monsieur,  et  peut- 
etre  une  pour  moi ! ” 


VI] 


HORACE  VERNET 


85 


Delaroche  was  of  Huguenot  descent,  a re- 
markably small  man  with  a very  grave  face  and 
manner.  He  had  married  the  only  daughter  of 
Horace  Vernet;  the  latter  was  head  of  the  French 
Academy  established  in  Rome.  Madame  Dela- 
roche was  strikingly  handsome,  though  almost  as 
grave-looking  as  her  husband.  She  introduced  me 
to  Horace  Vernet,  who  proposed  to  show  me  the 
Government  Life  School,  then  at  the  Institut,  of 
which  he  had  the  direction,  and  it  was  arranged 
that  I should  meet  him  there  the  next  day.  We 
arrived  at  the  rendezvous  at  the  same  moment,  i on 
foot,  whilst  he,  being  then  a major  on  the  staff  of 
the  National  Guard,  dashed  up  to  the  entrance  on 
horseback  and  in  full  uniform,  threw  the  rein  to  the 
orderly  who  was  in  attendance  on  him,  and  with 
clattering  spurs  and  clanging  scabbard  ran  up  the 
steps  of  the  Institut,  where  I was  waiting  for  him. 

He  went  the  round  of  the  pupils  present  with 
lightning  rapidity,  bestowing  sharp  criticism  on 
some,  sparse  commendation  on  others,  and  passing 
over  others  with  a mere  glimpse  over  their  shoulders 
and  jerk  of  his  head  which  was  very  expressive. 

Vernet  was  at  that  time  completing  the  great 


86 


HIS  PAINTINGS 


[chap. 


commission  he  executed  for  the  French  Govern- 
ment, illustrating  the  recent  success  of  the  French 
arms  in  Northern  Africa  by  pictures  of  vast  size: 
one  of  them,  called  “ La  Smala,”  representing  an 
attack  by  French  cavalry  on  the  principal  Arab 
camp  during  the  Algerian  campaign,  is,  I think, 
forty  feet  in  length.  This  and  others  of  the  same 
Brobdingnagian  proportions  are  now  to  be  seen  in 
the  galleries  of  Versailles.  The  energy  and  skill 
with  which  they  are  executed  are  worthy  of  general 
admiration. 

I became  acquainted  at  the  time  with  an  amusing 
incident  in  connection  with  “ La  Smala.”  An 
intimate  friend  of  my  youth,  who  afterwards  became 
my  brother-in-law,  Dr.  Seth  Thompson,  had  estab- 
lished himself  early  in  his  medical  career  as  the 
principal  English  physician  in  Rome,  and  during 
his  sojourn  there  for  several  years,  he  became  closely 
acquainted  with  the  Vernet  family,  a friendship 
which  was  carried  on  in  Paris  during  Thompson’s 
not  infrequent  visits  there.  During  his  school  and 
college  days  he  had  been  rather  noted  as  an  athlete, 
and  retained  his  interest  in  boxing  to  a late  period 
of  his  life,  believing  it  to  be  one  of  the  soundest  and 


VI] 


HIS  BOXING  LESSONS 


87 


best  of  all  manly  exercises  ; when  travelling,  boxing- 
gloves  were  always  included  in  his  impedimenta. 

Vernet  from  some  accidental  circumstances  had 
conceived  much  interest  in  “the  noble  art  of  self- 
defence,”  a title  which  he  much  admired,  and,  in 
cross-questioning  the  doctor  on  the  subject,  the 
latter  informed  him  that  he  not  only  had  two  pairs  of 
boxing-gloves  in  his  portmanteau,  but  that  he  would 
gladly  give  the  painter  some  elementary  instruction 
as  to  their  use.  Vernet  accepted  the  offer  with 
effusion,  and  a time  was  fixed  for  the  first  lesson. 

Whilst  the  artist  was  engaged  for  years  upon  his 
national  labour,  as  it  might  truly  be  called,  it  is 
needless  to  say  that  every  assistance  was  given  him 
by  all  the  Government  departments  in  any  way 
associated  with  his  subjects ; and  as  these  were  for 
the  most  part  military,  the  hall  of  the  Jeu  de 
Paume,1  used  as  Vernet’s  studio,  looked  like  a 
museum  of  military  uniforms  and  weapons. 

The  doctor  found  he  had  a very  apt  pupil  in  the 
painter,  who  soon  began  to  show  some  confidence 
in  attack.  Thompson  was  a perfectly  good-tempered 
man,  and  never  got  excited  over  games  or  exercise, 


Jeti  de  paume , the  original  game  of  tennis. 


88 


VERNET  AT  WORK 


[chap. 


but  on  one  occasion  when  they  were  sparring  in 
front  of  a quantity  of  the  aforesaid  helmets  and 
cuirasses,  drums  and  trumpets,  etc.,  the  Frenchman 
was  so  eager  that  Thompson,  feeling  he  must  stop 
the  rush  that  he  saw  impending,  struck  out  a couple 
of  straight  hits  from  the  shoulder  which  sent  Vernet 
spinning,  and  landed  him  on  his  back  in  the  middle 
of  the  weapons,  by  no  means  a soft  place  to  fall 
upon.  The  doctor  soon  picked  Vernet  up,  none 
the  worse  for  his  flooring,  but  the  sparring  lessons 
hung  fire  afterwards,  and  Vernet  used  to  visit 
London  to  see  them  carried  out  by  professionals  in 
prize-fights  and  Sporting  Club  entertainments. 

In  calling  to  take  leave  of  Vernet  and  thank  him 
for  all  his  friendly  kindness,  I found  him  at  work 
upon  another  enormous  canvas,  representing  an 
incident  in  the  siege  of  Constantine,  at  which  one 
of  Louis  Philippe’s  sons,  the  Due  D’Aumale,  had 
greatly  distinguished  himself  as  a young  man.  The 
foreground  of  the  picture  represented  the  interior 
of  some  of  the  trenches  in  which  were  the  French 
batteries  in  vigorous  action  against  the  Arabs.  In 
the  background  are  the  lines  of  the  great  fortress  of 
Constantine,  and  groups  of  assaulting  columns  in 


VI] 


HIS  METHODS 


89 


the  act  of  attacking  through  breaches  created  by 
the  persistent  French  fire.  The  Duke,  with  some 
of  his  staff,  is  standing  eagerly  watching  the  effect 
of  the  bombardment,  and  it  was  upon  the  group  of 
figures  that  I have  just  referred  to  that  Vernet  was 
working  in  the  most  energetic  way.  He  apolo- 
gised for  going  on  with  his  work,  whilst  I made 
vigorous  attempts  to  say  adieu,  and  not  interrupt 
him,  but  he  would  not  hear  of  my  leaving.  The 
tableau  presented  by  the  vigorous  little  man  and 
his  two  stolid  assistants,  who  were  painting  in  the 
endless  details  of  military  costumes,  was  so  interest- 
ing to  me  that  I consented  to  remain,  promising 
to  be  absolutely  silent.  He  vehemently  assured 
me  that  he  had  not  the  slightest  objection  to  any 
number  of  spectators  looking  on  whilst  he  painted  : 
he  would  talk,  however,  and  insisted  on  my  doing 
the  same,  but  we  grew  silent  as  he  got  more  and 
more  absorbed  in  his  work,  and  I could  see  he  was 
in  a doubtful  mood  of  mind  about  the  ducal  legs. 

The  figure  was  the  very  eye  of  the  composition. 
The  Duke  is  represented  standing,  watching  intently 
with  his  field-glass  the  effect  of  the  French  artillery 
on  the  walls  of  Constantine.  What  evidently  puzzled 


90 


VERSAILLES 


[chap. 


the  painter  was  the  composition  or  action  of  the 
lower  limbs.  He  had  no  model  sitting,  but  port- 
folios full  of  studies,  to  which  he  constantly  referred. 
Then  he  had  some  library  steps  of  a rough  kind 
placed  within  painting  touch  of  his  canvas,  and  up 
and  down  these  he  was  constantly  skipping,  rag  in 
hand,  to  wipe  out  legs,  then  to  stand  at  a distance 
and  glare  at  them  with  the  handle  of  a brush  across 
his  mouth,  which  was,  I am  sure,  often  bitten 
through.  But  at  last  the  ducal  legs  satisfied  him. 
Then  did  he  rejoice  and  appeal  to  me  for  confirma- 
tion of  his  own  satisfaction,  which  I cordially  gave. 
Finally  I left  him  prancing  up  the  steps,  and  firing 
off  some  pungent  criticisms  at  the  work  of  his 
assistants,  who  sat  with  their  noses  to  the  canvas, 
stippling  away  at  uniforms  and  other  etceteras  from 
morn  till  dewy  eve. 

During  this  visit  to  Paris  I went  to  stay  with 
some  English  friends  for  a few  days  at  Versailles. 
Passing  the  cathedral  door,  I was  much  struck  with 
the  figure  of  an  old  blind  man,  who  sat  on  the  door 
close  to  the  receptacle  for  holy  water,  which  he 
offered  to  all  who  were  entering  the  church.  Having 
my  sketch-book  in  my  pocket.  I sat  down  and  began 


VI] 


MME.  LA  BARONNE 


9i 


a slight  drawing  of  him.  While  I was  doing  this  a 
delightful-looking  elderly  French  lady,  beautifully 
dressed,  came  up  the  steps,  attended  by  her  bonne , 
and  passed  into  the  building.  On  her  return  she 
came  behind  me,  and  looking  over  my  shoulder, 
broke  into  warm  expressions  of  admiration,  and 
said  to  her  attendant,  “ Is  it  not  charming? — so 
exactly  like!  I wonder  whether  he  would  sell  it.” 

We  entered  into  conversation,  and  though  I 
could  not  agree  to  make  a commercial  transaction 
out  of  so  simple  a sketch,  I promised  to  make  a 
copy  of  it  for  her.  She  handed  me  her  card, 
“ Madame  la  Baronne  de  Bourg,”  and  after  a 
prolonged  conversation,  in  which  she  asked  me  to 
dinner — to  meet  the  Bishop  of  Versailles — an  in- 
vitation that  circumstances  prevented  my  accept- 
ing, we  parted. 

When  my  copy  of  the  sketch  was  finished,  I let 
her  know  that  I could  bring  it  the  following  morn- 
ing. 

She  had  a very  fine  family  hotel  in  Versailles,  and 
a beautiful  chateau  in  the  country,  as  I afterwards 
learned.  I found  a perfect  specimen  of  the  old  French 
servitor  at  the  door,  evidently  prepared  for  my 


92 


MY  LADY’S  CHAMBER 


[chap. 


advent,  which  he  honoured  with  many  “a  bow 
and  scrape,”  and  he  led  me  through  a series  of 
salons  filled  with  exquisite  furniture.  He  assured 
me  that  Mme.  la  Baronne  was  expecting  me,  and 
would  be  enchanted  to  see  me,  if  I would  follow 
him.  This  I did,  keeping  my  footing  with  some 
difficulty  on  the  floors  polished  like  glass. 

At  the  end  of  a corridor  he  stopped  me  with  the 
utmost  courtesy  before  some  double  doors,  tapped 
and  listened,  raising  his  finger  as  warning  respectful 
silence.  A gentle  voice  was  heard  to  say,  “Entrez, 
toujours!”  and  my  conductor,  opening  and  setting 
back  both  doors  with  practised  grace,  begged  me 
to  enter,  for  I hesitated  when  I was  confronted  with 
Mme.  la  Baronne  sitting  up  in  bed.  She,  however, 
waved  her  hand  towards  a Louis  Quinze  chair, 
evidently  placed  by  her  bedside  for  my  reception. 

Well,  it  was  the  first  time  that  I had  ever  been 
invited  to  enter  a lady’s  chamber,  and  it  was  rather 
startling  to  my  youthful  and  untravelled  mind. 
However,  I quickly  recovered  my  equanimity,  and 
the  Baronne,  pointing  to  piles  of  packets  of  letters 
lying  beside  her,  began  to  speak  of  the  sadness  of 
re-reading  the  records  of  the  past,  and  as  she  spoke 


VI] 


AN  INTERVIEW 


93 


I noticed  how  yellow  was  the  paper  and  how  faded 
the  writing,  and  I conjured  up  all  sorts  of  romantic 
ideas  about  a love-story  in  her  youth  ; but  when 
tears  came  into  her  bright  old  eyes,  and  French 
words  utterly  failed  me  for  the  correct  responsive 
phrases,  I was  fain  to  change  the  subject  by  pre- 
senting my  sketch. 

Then  she  showered  thanks  upon  me,  and  kind 
expressions  of  admiration,  and  pressed  me  to  dine 
that  day  to  meet  the  general  of  the  troops  then 
quartered  in  Versailles.  I was  obliged  to  decline, 
and  was  then  requested  to  write  down  my  name  and 
address  in  England,  so  that  members  of  her  family, 
who  often  visited  England,  might  come  and  see  me 
and  my  “ beautiful  pictures.”  I may  add  that  the 
lady  was  most  elaborately  attired,  and  that  her 
bonnet  de  nuit  was  a marvellous  structure  of  bows 
and  ribbons,  so  that  only  the  tips  of  her  features 
were  visible.  My  address,  “ i,  High  Row,  Ken- 
sington Gravel  Pits,”  much  astonished  her,  and  I, 
alas  ! could  not  translate  or  explain  the  last  words  at 
all  to  her  satisfaction,  partly  because  my  knowledge 
of  French  was  limited,  and  partly  because  I reflected 
that  if  I could  make  her  understand  the  literal 


94 


CITOYEN  HORSLEY 


[CHAP. 


meaning,  what  would  she  think  of  such  a place  of 
residence  ? 

I need  scarcely  say  that  I never  saw  the  kind 
grande  dame  again,  nor  have  any  of  her  family 
made  a voyage  of  discovery  to  the  “Gravale  Peets,” 
which  was  her  pronunciation  of  the  words. 

One  morning  in  April,  1848,  when  I had  just 
begun  my  days  work,  I got  an  urgent  letter  from 
Brunei,  begging  me  to  come  with  him  to  Paris  for  a 
few  days  to  see  that  capital  under  the  government  of 
a Republic.  The  result  was  that  we  started  for 
Paris  in  a very  few  hours’  time. 

He  had  secured  rooms  for  us  in  the  Hotel  Bristol, 
Place  Vendome.  The  gay  city  we  knew  so  well 
was  seething  with  excitement.  We  began  at  once 
a course  of  running  after  every  crowd  in  the  street, 
in  the  hopes  of  seeing  the  erection  of  a barricade. 

My  wife’s  sister  had  married  a French  engineer, 
an  ex-militaire,  and  under  his  guidance  we  went  to 
all  kinds  of  furious  Red  Republican  meetings  (pro- 
vided with  cards  of  admission  made  out  to  Citoyens 
Horsley  and  Brunei),  where  violent  addresses  were 
given  by  blue-bloused  working  men,  usually  from  a 
low  platform,  on  which  they  paced  up  and  down  like 


VI] 


A RED  REPUBLICAN 


95 


caged  beasts,  working  themselves  into  a wild  state 
of  excitement. 

After  a few  days  our  guide,  philosopher,  and 
friend,  Mr.  Charles  Bergeron,  produced  orders  for 
a stance  at  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  We  had 
seats  in  the  front  row  of  the  strangers’  gallery,  and 
beside  us  we  found  an  intelligent  Frenchman,  who 
made  polite  overtures,  and  kindly  offered  to  point 
out  notabilities. 

Amongst  the  extraordinary  actions  of  the  pro- 
visional Government,  then  ruling  France,  was  the 
formation  of  a Workmens  Parliament,  which  met  at 
the  Luxembourg  Palace,  and  of  which  Louis  Blanc 
was  appointed  the  President.  He  was  a fierce-look- 
ing  little  Corsican,  very  dark-complexioned,  and  with 
piercing  eyes. 

Reports  of  all  kinds  were  being  spread  through 
the  city  of  the  imperial  style  in  which  he  lorded  it 
over  his  Parliament,  of  his  driving  out  in  semi-state 
in  Louis  Philippe’s  royal  carriage,  and  of  his  splendid 
entertainments  prepared  by  Louis  Philippe’s  cook. 
It  was  in  reference  to  these  reports  that  he  on  this 
occasion  demanded  an  inquiry  by  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies  into  the  truth  of  what  he  said  were  the 
vilest  slanders. 


96 


LOUIS  BLANC’S  SACRIFICE 


[CHAP. 


Other  notable  people  present  were  Lamartine 
and  Ledru  Rollin,  the  former  a remarkably  gentle- 
manly well-dressed  person,  very  like  the  best  type 
of  Englishman,  while  Ledru  Rollin  was  the  exact 
reverse — very  tall  and  portly,  beefy,  and  black- 
muzzled, with  a savage  and  animal-looking  head. 

The  debate  began  with  the  wildest  talk,  and  then 
came  Louis  Blanc’s  time.  He  was  so  short  that  he 
had  a stool  to  stand  on  in  the  Tribune,  off  which  he 
was  continually  stepping  in  his  excitement,  and  then 
jumping  up  again,  while  he  belaboured  the  desk 
with  both  fists  at  once.  Suddenly  he  turned  upon 
his  opponents,  and  made  a most  tremendous  appeal 
to  them  on  the  subject  of  his  sacrifices  for  his 
country,  upon  which  my  gentlemanly  acquaintance 
next  the  stranger  rose  to  his  feet  in  overwhelming 
excitement,  and  shouted,  “ Sacrifices  ! I should  like 
to  be  so  sacrificed — lodgings  in  the  Luxembourg 
and  the  best  cook  in  Paris ! ” 

Shouts  of  applause  and  derision  and  shrieks  from 
the  friends  of  Louis  Blanc,  who  was  foaming  at  the 
mouth  with  rage,  succeeded  this  outburst,  both 
from  the  deputies  and  the  tumultuous  mob  of 
“ strangers  ” present.  The  row  became  so  fast  and 


VI] 


A DRAMATIC  MEETING 


97 


furious  that  the  assembly  broke  up,  and  we  again 
descended  to  the  street,  and  followed  up  the  noisiest 
groups  outside. 

We  stopped  three  or  four  days  more,  and  then 
came  back  to  England. 

The  attack  we  had  heard  on  Louis  Blanc  had 
taken  great  effect,  and  he  had  to  bolt  for  refuge  to 
London.  I did  not  know  of  this,  and  well  recall 
my  astonishment  when,  crossing  St.  James’s  Park, 
I suddenly  came  face  to  face  with  the  fiery  little 
orator.  I stood  and  stared  with  the  astonishment 
I truly  felt,  and  my  stare  evidently  disturbed  his 
equanimity  greatly.  He  began  buttoning  up  his 
overcoat  with  dramatic  fervour,  and  I am  sure  was 
meditating  getting  “on  the  run  ” again — a very  un- 
necessary proceeding,  as  he  was  not  “ wanted  ” any- 
where save  by  his  Parisian  set — so,  by  a sudden 
inspiration,  I took  my  hat  off  and  made  him  a polite 
bow,  which  so  restored  his  self-possession  that  he 
returned  my  bow  with  effusion  and  walked  off 
calmly  ; I did  not  then  imagine  how  soon  we  were 
to  meet  again  by  one  of  those  curious  coincidences 
which  baffle  speculation. 

I had  arranged  to  go  down  the  following  day  to 

H 


98 


KNOLE  PARK 


[CHAP. 


Sevenoaks  to  show  some  friends  Knole  Park  and 
Ightham  Mote,  two  of  my  best-loved  professional 
hunting-grounds. 

Sevenoaks,  in  lovely  Kent,  the  “Garden  of  Eng- 
land,” is  a charming  sample  of  an  English  country 
town,  with  many  picturesque  private  houses  of 
serenely  comfortable  aspect,  and  the  main  street 
crowmed  by  the  lovely  park  with  its  stately  house, 
mainly  Elizabethan  and  Jacobean.  It  is  full  of  in- 
teresting objets  Tart,  apart  from  the  priceless 
pictures  on  its  walls,  of  invaluable  interest  to  those 
who,  like  myself,  have  revelled  in  the  endeavour 
to  realise  the  aspect  of  people  and  things  in  bygone 
days. 

On  my  way  down  I had  been  amusing  my  friends 
with  anecdotes  of  my  Paris  visit,  and  when,  after 
interviewing  our  landlord,  Mr.  Pawley,  of  the  Crown 
Inn,  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine,  we  were  peace- 
fully walking  in  the  quiet  streets  of  Sevenoaks  on 
our  way  to  the  park,  and  comparing  the  tranquil 
scenes  before  us  with  the  condition  of  Paris  as  I 
had  seen  it,  and  as  described  in  the  Times  of  that 
morning  (which  condition  indeed  soon  culminated 
in  the  fighting  and  the  slaughter  of  July,  1848), 


VI] 


LOUIS  BLANC  AGAIN 


99 


suddenly  we  were  confronted  by  a party  of  sight- 
seers, among  whom  was  Louis  Blanc. 

I could  not  have  felt  more  astonished  if  he  had 
dropped  at  my  feet  from  the  clouds,  or  had  been 
shot  up  by  an  explosion  from  below,  than  I was  at 
this  apparition.  He  did  not  recognise  me,  as  was 
very  natural,  and  we — for  I had  soon  told  my 
friends  who  he  was — were  able  to  amuse  ourselves 
by  observing  them  without  exciting  his  nerves. 

Pawley  was  comically  flustered  by  my  informa- 
tion about  Louis  Blanc,  and  at  first  declared  he 
must  turn  him  out  from  his  old  inn,  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Conservatives  of  Kent,  which  could 
not  harbour  a Red  Republican.  However,  as  he 
calmed  down  he  went  on  to  say  that  the  party  was 
only  there  for  one  night,  brought  by  an  old  patron 
of  his,  Miss  Eliza  Cook,  the  poetess.  He  was  sur- 
prised at  my  ignorance  of  her  fame.  She  was  the 
poetic  representative  of  Republicanism  and  Chartism 
in  England,  and  at  the  beck  and  call  of  all  the 
disturbers  of  peace  and  order.  I assured  him  that 
no  harm  could  come  to  his  house,  even  from  Louis 
Blanc,  firebrand  as  he  was,  illuminating  Sevenoaks 
for  one  night. 


100 


HIDE-AND-SEEK 


[CHAP.  VI 


The  next  day  we  saw  nothing  of  the  “Reds” 
till  we  came  upon  them  in  the  afternoon,  in  Knole 
Park,  where  they  were  playing  a mild  form  of  hide- 
and-seek,  in  which  Louis  Blanc  and  Eliza  Cook 
were  to  be  seen  running  up  and  down  the  grassy 
slopes,  hand  in  hand. 

I could  but  feel  a shade  of  pity  for  the  poor  little 
man,  reduced  to  such  an  extremity  for  getting 
through  the  day,  when,  a few  days  before,  he  was 
lording  it  at  the  Luxembourg,  with  “ the  best  cook 
in  Paris,”  and  royal  equipages  at  his  disposal. 


CHAPTER  VII 


Haddon  Hall — The  Vernons — L.  E.  L.’s  criticism— Ightham  Mote — 
Expedition  from  Gravesend — Difficulties  and  how  we  overcame 
them — Charles  Landseer — History  of  the  Mote — Major  Luard — 
Heraldic  Arms — Horsley  Castle — Old  Kensington — Kensington 
Gardens — The  gravel  pits — William  I II.— Yew  hedges — Orme — 
Village  of  Kensington — Highwaymen — General  Graham’s  adven- 
ture— His  wife’s  picture — Picture  by  Sir  Augustus  Callcott—  Effect 
of  sunshine. 

I HAD  made  acquaintance  with  Haddon  Hall 
about  1835,  when  I went  to  stay  with  some  of 
the  well-known  Derbyshire  family  of  Barkers,  at 
the  Manor  House,  Bakewell. 

Mr.  Barker  had  given  me  a warm  invitation  to 
go  and  stay  with  them,  and  sketch  Haddon  Hall, 
so  one  evening  at  six  o’clock  I found  myself  on  the 
box-seat  of  the  “ Peveril  of  the  Peak,”  a four-horse 
fast  coach  which  took  me  to  Bakewell,  and  in  this 
far  from  luxurious  position  I passed  the  night  and 
arrived  there  about  noon  the  next  day. 

Next  morning  we  sallied  forth  and  walked  across 


IOI 


102 


HADDON  HALL 


[chap. 


the  meadows  to  Haddon.  It  is  absolutely  unique, 
and  there  is  nothing  like  it  in  the  whole  world.  All 
other  old  houses — and  I have  searched  for  them 
far  and  wide — have  been  altered  to  meet  the  re- 
quirements of  succeeding  generations  without  due 
regard  to  fitness  and  original  beauty,  or  they  have 
been  spoilt  by  so-called  restorations.  All  such 
additions  as  have  been  made  to  Haddon  Hall  have 
been  done  during  the  best  periods  of  English 
domestic  architecture,  the  building  having  been 
begun  in  the  reign  of  King  John  and  finished,  to 
the  best  of  my  belief,  in  that  of  Charles  I. 

As  is  well  known,  Haddon  originally  belonged  to 
the  Vernons.  It  was  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  that  Lady  Dorothy  Vernon  eloped  with 
Sir  George  Manners,  the  heir  of  the  Rutland 
family.  Both  the  church  at  Bakewell  and  the  Hall 
are  full  of  associations  with  legends,  of  more  or 
less  veracity,  about  this  romantic  couple. 

I was  naturally  filled  with  yearnings  to  paint 
pictures,  in  which  I could  use  as  backgrounds  the 
ancient  halls  and  chambers,  and  I dreamed  many  a 
dream  of  pictures  to  be,  as  I sketched  diligently  the 
beautiful  scenes  before  me. 


VII]  “RENT  DAY  AT  HADDON  HALL”  103 

Showing  my  uncle  Callcott  these  studies  on  my 
return,  he  was  equally  impressed  with  the  capability 
of  the  old  place  for  pictorial  treatment,  and  when  I 
confided  to  him  my  crude  ideas  in  connection  with 
the  sketches,  to  my  agreeable  surprise  he  did  not 
snub  me  as  I expected,  but  gave  me  a few  words  of 
distinct  encouragement,  whereupon  I at  once  began 
a picture  from  one  of  them  which  elicited  the 
following  criticism. 

In  the  Athenceum  for  Saturday,  February  4th, 
1837,  in  the  notice  of  the  British  Institution 
written  by  “ L.  E.  L.”  (Letitia  Elizabeth  Landon, 
the  ill-fated  poetess,  who  perished  from  an  overdose 
of  laudanum  at  Cape  Coast,  where  her  husband, 
Mr.  Maclean,  was  Governor),  occurs  the  following 
passage,  which  at  the  time  gave  much  pleasure  to 
the  young  artist,  I remember  : — 

“Mr.  J.  C.  Horsley  is  a name  new  to  us  ; his 
‘ Rent  Day  in  the  Sixteenth  Century  at  Haddon 
Hall  ’ makes  us  feel  as  if  we  ought  to  have  known 
it  earlier.  The  lord  of  the  manor  is  sitting,  with 
his  steward  at  his  side,  to  receive  the  moneys  which 
a stalwart  green-hosed  yeoman  pays  down  with  as 
much  goodwill  as  respect:  my  lady’s  page  lingers  in 


104 


IGHTHAM  MOTE 


[chap. 


the  oriel  window  looking  on,  while  behind  the  door 
in  the  rich  oak  screen  a maid  is  pouring  out  ale  for 
two  others  of  the  tenants.  All  this  is  good. 

“ But  if  Mr.  Horsley  meant  to  paint  old  Haddon 
in  all  its  glory,  was  he  right,  we  ask,  to  use  the 
mildewed  colouring  which  he  has  thrown  over  the 
picture  ? As  it  now  stands,  it  is  a group  of  expres- 
sive figures  and  rich  old  furniture  as  they  were  then, 
placed  in  a desolate  weather-stained  hall  as  it  is 
now.” 

This,  to  my  mind,  is  a good  specimen  of  a fair 
criticism. 

My  first  acquaintance  with  Ightham  Mote  was 
from  the  excellent  lithographic  plates  depicting  it 
in  Joseph  Nashs  book  on  old  English  mansions. 
H e was  an  admirable  artist  in  his  way,  and  a mem- 
ber of  the  old  Water  Colour  Society.  He  told  me 
how  very  difficult  it  was  to  obtain  admission  to  the 
Mote,  and  that  when  he  went  he  was  threatened  with 
having  the  dog's  “set  at  him,”  but  he  added  that  the 
owner  was  dead,  and  that  now  it  might  be  easier  to 
see  it. 

Finding  myself  at  Gravesend  with  a friend,  I per- 
suaded him  to  go  with  me  on  a voyage  of  discovery, 
and  we  set  off  with  very  vague  ideas  of  both  the 


VII] 


A DIFFICULTY 


05 


exact  locality  and  the  distance,  but  in  those  golden 
days  of  youth,  ten  or  twenty  miles,  more  or  less,  in 
a day’s  march  mattered  little.  We  passed  through 
Wrotham  and  Ightham  villages,  and  at  last  caught 
sight  of  the  Mote  as  we  were  descending  a sharp 
pitch,  but  we  were  still  so  much  above  it  that  we 
seemed  to  be  looking  down  its  chimneys.  When  we 
emerged  from  the  wooded  hill  we  were  on  the  road 
leading  to  the  house,  and  its  delightful  picturesque- 
ness more  than  realised  my  expectations.  There  is 
an  entrance  tower  of  the  time  of  Edward  the  Third 
leading  into  a quadrangle.  The  internal  decorations 
of  the  chapel  date  from  Henry  the  Seventh,  and  all 
the  beauties  of  the  place  are  enhanced  by  its  setting 
in  a moat  of  clear  water,  supplied  from  many  springs. 

We  found  that  there  was  no  possible  approach 
by  the  main  entrance  in  the  tower,  and  wandering 
round  we  came  to  a back  entrance  with  a narrow 
footbridge  over  the  moat.  I ventured  across,  and 
smartly  rapping  at  the  door,  it  was  opened  by  a 
sharp-eyed  maiden,  who  civilly  but  decidedly  made 
it  clear  to  me  that  no  one  was  admitted  to  the 
house,  that  her  mistress  was  an  invalid  who  saw  no 


one. 


io  6 


DIFFICULTY  OVERCOME 


[chap. 


Neither  entreaties  nor  arguments  produced  any 
effect,  and  there  was  something  so  pleasant  about 
the  little  maid,  I did  not  like  to  try  the  base  art 
of  bribery,  so  I turned  reluctantly  away,  bidding 
her  good  morning.  “Well,  sir,”  she  said,  “ it  does 
seem  a pity  you  should  come  such  a way  for 
nothing.  If  you  can  wait,”  she  went  on,  “missus 
dines  at  two,  and  goes  to  sleep  afterwards;  so  if 
you  and  your  friend  are  here  at  three,  I could  let  you 
in  and  just  show  you  the  old  place,  but  you  mustn’t 
stay  long,  for  I don’t  know  what  missus  would  do 
if  she  caught  sight  of  you  again.”  “Again!”  I 
echoed.  “ When  has  she  seen  me  before  ? ” “ Oh, 
sir,  she  was  watching  you  when  you  came  along 
the  front,  and  she  had  me  up  to  say  two  very  sus- 
picious characters  were  poking  about,  and  I was 
to  bolt  all  the  doors  and  whistle  in  the  dogs  from 
the  stables.”  Then  I remembered  that  when  looking 
up  at  the  house  I had  noticed  a sort  of  bundle  that 
looked  like  a roll  of  blankets  at  one  of  the  windows. 
This  doubtless  was  the  “ missus  ” on  the  watch. 

At  the  appointed  time  we  returned,  and  saw  the 
interior  of  one  of  the  most  charming  houses  it  is 
possible  to  imagine.  The  whole  place  is  a feast  to 


VII] 


LANDSEER  AT  THE  MOTE 


107 


artists,  and  I returned  to  town  very  full  of  its  artistic 
capabilities. 

Charles  Landseer,  Edwin’s  elder  brother,  was  so 
fired  by  my  description  that  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
go  and  do  some  oil-studies  of  the  interior.  I warned 
him  how  small  his  chances  were  of  obtaining  admis- 
sion, but  he  succeeded  so  far  as  to  lodge  his  easel 
under  the  stone  arch  of  the  big  kitchen  fireplace, 
while  he  painted  the  kitchen — a most  elaborate  sub- 
ject, needing  many  days’  work. 

Now  the  chamber  called  the  '‘still-room”  at  the 
Mote  has  an  internal  window  commanding  the 
kitchen,  so  that  the  housewives  of  old,  while  distil- 
ling their  herbs  “for  the  use  of  men,”  and  attending 
to  other  housewifely  duties  in  their  particular  apart- 
ment, could  at  any  moment  look  down  upon  the  pro- 
ceedings of  their  domestics  and  the  roasting  of  the 
joints. 

The  present  “missus”  was  too  much  of  an  invalid 
to  make  use  of  this  convenient  arrangement,  but  one 
morning,  when  the  aforesaid  maiden  was  ironing  her 
cuffs  and  collars  at  the  kitchen  table,  and  Landseer 
was  busy  stooping  over  his  work,  his  fair,  curly  pate 
well  in  view,  the  window  was  suddenly  opened,  and 


io8 


HISTORY  OF  THE  MOTE 


[CHAP. 


the  head  of  the  old  lady  appeared.  Landseer  had 
the  presence  of  mind  to  keep  rigidly  still  and  abso- 
lutely silent.  Old  lady  (loudly) : “ What  is  that  by 
the  fireplace,  what  is  it  ? — I believe  it’s  a man ! ” 
The  little  maid  (promptly  and  cheerfully)  : “ Lor’, 
mum,  why  it’s  only  the  kitchen  mop”  (Landseer’s 
dust-coloured  hair)  “ leaning  against  a chair.”  The 
mistress,  being  of  uncertain  vision,  was  apparently 
satisfied,  and  closed  the  window,  and  the  incident 
with  it. 

The  Mote  had  in  mediaeval  times  belonged  to  a 
family  of  de  Hootes.  In  Queen  Elizabeth’s  vigor- 
ous days  the  old  family  of  Selby  of  Twizells,  in 
Northumberland,  had  become  so  numerous  that  a 
branch  of  them,  headed  by  Sir  William  Selby, 
migrated,  and  sought  their  fortunes  at  the  English 
Court.  Here  the  knight  met  and  married  a daughter 
of  the  de  Hootes,  who  was  the  heiress  of  the 
Ightham  property.  Thus  the  Selbys  lived  and 
flourished  there  till  up  to  the  beginning  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  when,  their  financial  position  being 
gravely  affected  by  various  strokes  of  ill-fortune, 
they  drifted  into  the  clutches  of  a limb  of  the 
law,  who  after  years  of  chicanery  and  usury, 


VII] 


IT  CHANGES  HANDS 


109 


obtained  possession  of  the  entire  estate,  ousting  the 
Selbys. 

The  only  child  of  the  new  owner  was  a scape- 
grace, and  in  his  dying  hours  he  was  sorely  puzzled 
as  to  the  disposition  of  the  Ightham  property ; how- 
ever, visited  with  a righteous  and  merciful  inspira- 
tion, he  bequeathed  it  to  the  extant  Selby  of  Twi- 
zells,  in  Northumberland,  a delightful  old  country 
gentleman  and  keen  sportsman.  He  was,  moreover, 
an  accomplished  ornithologist  and  the  author  of 
a well-known  book  on  British  birds.  I can  readily 
fancy  the  delight  with  which  he  took  possession  of 
the  family  acres  and  the  picturesque  home.  About 
this  time  his  eldest  daughter,  Mrs.  Bigge,  was 
widowed,  and  she  with  several  young  children  ac- 
cepted her  father’s  offer  of  the  Mote  as  their  home. 
It  was  at  this  time  that  I had  the  great  pleasure 
of  becoming  intimately  acquainted  with  the  Bigge 
family. 

I painted  an  elaborate  picture  of  the  arched 
entrance  to  the  hall  from  the  courtyard,  and  was  a 
not  infrequent  visitor  at  the  Mote  during  the  life- 
time of  Mrs.  Bigge,  who  subsequently  married 
Major  Luard,  of  the  Horse  Artillery,  a name  so 


MAJOR  LUARD 


[chap. 


iio 

honoured  and  respected  in  the  British  army  that 
the  men  of  the  family  were  known  by  the  name  of 
the  “ Fighting  Luards.”  Major  Luard  had  a strong 
artistic  bent,  and  was  a learned  antiquarian ; his 
nephew,  John  Luard,  an  artist  of  great  promise, 
died  early. 

It  was  at  the  Mote  one  day  that  a discussion 
arose  about  heraldic  arms.  Major  Luard  pounced 
upon  me  with  the  question,  “ Horsley,  what  are 
your  arms  ? ” and  became  indignant  when  I asserted 
that  my  family  bore  none,  and  went  on  to  reproach 
me  for  want  of  interest  in  the  antecedents  of  a family 
of  so  old  a name  as  ours.  “Well,  I can  tell  you 
this,”  he  went  on,  “that  in  the  county  of  Northum- 
berland, not  far  from  the  town  of  Rothbury,  stands 
the  village  and  the  castle  of  Long  Horsley,  which 
has  never  been  uninhabited  or  allowed  to  become 
ruinous.  The  land  round  the  castle  is  still  called 
the  Deerpark,  and  there  are  many  traces  on  the 
estate  of  the  importance  of  the  family  once  holding 
it.  Up  to  the  time  of  Charles  I.  they  flourished; 
their  troubles  began  when  the  Horsleys,  loyal  to  the 
backbone,  bore  their  heavy  share  in  the  sacrifices 
which  ruined  thousands  of  the  British  gentry,  and 


VII] 


MY  HERALDIC  ARMS 


1 1 1 

they  were  finally  engulfed  in  financial  troubles  at 
the  moment  when  General  Monk  was  moving  about 
the  North  uncertain  which  side  to  take — that  of 
King  or  Parliament.  The  hospitality  they  showed 
him  and  his  following  seems  to  have  been  the  final 
straw,  and  the  whole  family  were  plunged  into  com- 
parative poverty.”  At  this  point  Major  Luard 
stopped,  and  again  asked  me  if  I knew  absolutely 
nothing  of  my  family  history. 

After  some  reflection  I answered  that  I could  tell 
him  that  my  paternal  grandfather  had  been  the 
chief  medical  man  in  Carlisle  early  in  the  eighteenth 
century.  Upon  which  the  Major  started  and 
positively  yelled  out  that  I could  give  him  no 
more  convincing  proof  that  I was  of  the  old  race 
of  Horsley,  of  Long  Horsley,  in  the  county  of 
Northumberland,  for,  “ What  had  taken  place  after 
the  financial  smash  up  of  the  family  ? Why,  those 
who  had  sufficient  talent  joined  the  professional 
ranks  of  church,  army,  law,  or  medicine — your 
great-grandfather  would  have  lived  in  the  time 
of  General  Monk.” 

Major  Luard  was  also  much  interested  at  a 
reminiscence  of  my  childhood  that  came  back  to  me 
during  this  discussion. 


I 12 


HORSLEY  CASTLE 


[CHAP. 


My  sister  Fanny  and  I when  we  were  children 
were  immensely  delighted  with  Washington  Irving’s 
Christmas  at  Bracebridge  Hall,  and  we  determined 
to  do  our  best  to  keep  Christmas  in  such  a notable 
fashion.  To  decorate  the  dining-room,  I painted 
a nearly  life-sized  portrait  of  a presumed  ancestor 
standing  in  full  armour  by  the  side  of  a stately 
charger.  We  called  him  (on  the  frame)  “Sir 
Geoffrey  de  Hoerslie.”  Wanting  to  paint  the  arms 
on  his  shield,  I asked  my  father  what  they  should 
be,  and  he  answered  without  the  slightest  hesitation, 
“ Why,  three  horses’  heads  are  the  arms,  one  only 
being  the  crest.”  That  was  the  only  occasion  on 
which  I can  remember  my  father  referring  to  his 
ancestors. 

A few  years  later,  having  the  pleasure  of  knowing 
that  very  famous  Englishman,  Lord  (then  Sir 
William)  Armstrong,  I was  invited  to  stay  at  Crag- 
side,  his  beautiful  home  in  the  moors,  near  Rothbury, 
in  Northumberland,  which  was  but  a few  miles  from 
the  village  of  Long  Horsley.  I need  not  say  that  I 
quickly  told  my  host  of  my  interest  in  this  place  and 
the  castle,  and  we  thereupon  went  to  see  it.  The 
castle  was  then  inhabited  by  a Roman  Catholic 
priest,  who  most  kindly  showed  us  the  place. 


VII] 


OLD  KENSINGTON 


3 


The  castle  is  a very  good  specimen  of  the  Border 
fortresses,  called  Peel  Towers.  The  basement,  a 
solid  arched  structure,  reminding  you  of  a cathedral 
crypt,  was  used  as  a sanctuary  for  man  and  beast 
when  the  Moss  Troopers  were  over  the  Border 
raiding  the  district  far  and  wide ; at  such  times  the 
temporary  ladder  to  the  platform,  from  which  access 
was  obtained  to  the  dwelling-place,  was  drawn  up. 
The  castle  itself  has  three  or  four  floors,  some  of  the 
rooms  being  ornamented  with  good  Jacobean  panels, 
and  plaster  work  of  the  same  period  in  the  ceilings 
and  cornices.  The  chapel  is  built  in  the  thickness 
of  the  wall. 

No  sketch,  however  slight,  of  my  memories  could 
be  complete  without  some  account  of  Old  Ken- 
sington as  I first  knew  it,  when  Kensington 
Gardens  was  the  happy  playground  of  all  Kensing- 
ton children  whose  nurses  and  caretakers  always 
gravitated  towards  the  palace  and  the  Round  Pond, 
and  when  Campden  Grove  was  an  open  space  of 
woodland,  in  which  I have  often  accompanied  a 
young  medical  friend  who  possessed  a gun,  and  who 
“ took  ” the  shooting,  there  being  no  police  to  inter- 
fere with  the  destruction  of  casual  dickey-birds. 


i 


KENSINGTON  GARDENS 


[chap. 


1 14 

The  walls,  too,  with  which  nearly  all  the  private 
houses  were  shut  in,  were  of  astonishing  beauty, 
perhaps  the  finest  of  all  being  that  enclosing  the 
kitchen  garden  of  Kensington  Palace.  The 
majority  of  them  dated,  I should  think,  from  the 
time  of  Charles  II.,  and  many  of  them  were  older. 
They  were  not  then  grimy  and  smoke-stained,  but 
had  all  the  charm  of  varied  colour,  and  the  growth 
of  lichens  added  to  the  beauty  of  their  stately 
proportions.  Parts  of  these  walls  are  introduced 
into  the  background  of  several  of  Mulready’s 
pictures  ; he  lived  from  early  manhood  till  death  in 
Kensington  Gravel  Pits. 

Several  features,  which  gave  their  special  charm 
to  the  Kensington  Gardens  of  my  childhood,  have 
completely  disappeared.  One  of  these  was  the  rows 
of  yew  hedges  planted  by  William  III.,  occupying 
the  ground  between  the  western  walk  at  the  north 
end  of  the  Gardens  and  the  Broad  Walk,  which  yew 
hedges  represented  celebrated  lines  of  fortification 
in  Holland,  and  which  in  his  time,  and  for  years 
afterwards,  were  kept  well  trimmed  and  in  good 
order,  both  as  to  the  hedges  and  to  the  intervening 
gravel  walks  and  plots  of  turf.  In  my  childhood 


VII] 


ITS  OLD  YEW  HEDGES 


1 15 

these  walks  were  a glorious  place  for  hide-and-seek, 
or  for  playing  at  soldiers  and  fighting  behind  the 
“ walls  of  circumvallation  ” that  could  be  still  traced, 
though  long  before  this  the  authorities  had  grown 
careless,  and  the  yews  had  stretched  their  branches 
far  and  wide.  Another  feature  was  a large  pit 
inside  the  Gardens  on  the  right  of  the  Broad 
Walk  as  you  enter  it  from  Bayswater.  It  was  used 
for  gravel-digging  for  many  years,  and  was  filled 
up  when  the  northern  end  of  the  Serpentine  in 
the  Gardens  was  cleaned  out,  and  much  picturesque 
undergrowth  destroyed.  It  had  been  the  happy 
hunting-ground  of  artists  young  and  old,  I do  not 
question,  for  half  a century  or  more,  and  grievous 
mournings  were  heard  on  all  sides  on  its  destruction. 

The  district  west  of  the  Gardens  was  called  the 
Kensington  Gravel  Pits  because  this  region  is  formed 
of  gravel  beds  of  splendid  quality,  the  fame  of  which 
became  known  to  the  Russians  when  they  were 
building  St.  Petersburg,  and  wished  to  form  an 
! enormous  parade  ground  two  miles  square,  I believe. 
They  made  regulations  that  their  ships  bringing 
cargoes  of  hides  and  tallow  and  other  merchandise 
should  always  return  in  ballast  of  Bayswater  gravel. 


ii  6 


THE  GRAVEL  PITS 


[chap. 


Amongst  the  chief  owners  of  land  in  and  about 
this  neighbourhood  was  a Mr.  Orme,  who  is  said  to 
have  made  an  enormous  fortune  by  supplying 
Russia  with  gravel.  When  he  had  dug  out  the 
gravel,  he  took  to  building  three  sides  of  a square, 
to  which  he  gave  his  name,  and  as  a token  of 
gratitude  to  his  excellent  customer  Russia,  he 
erected  a column  in  the  centre  of  Orme  Square  with 
the  Russian  eagle  on  the  top,  all  of  which  may  still 
be  seen.  Mr.  Orme  also  built  St.  Petersburg  Place 
and  Moscow  Road.  Several  other  landed  pro- 
prietors followed  the  example  and  became  gravel- 
diggers.  One  of  John  Linnell’s  admirable  land- 
scapes has  for  its  subject  “ Gravel-digging  at 
Craven  Hill.”  The  last  operation  of  this  kind  took 
place  very  recently  in  Bayswater,  when  Palace 
Court  was  built ; it  was  quite  refreshing  to  see  this 
beautiful  stuff  once  more  exposed,  and  as  it  was  for 
sale,  I took  the  opportunity  of  furbishing  up  my  old 
walks  at  No.  i,  High  Row. 

When  I was  a child  the  road  between  the  village 
of  Kensington  and  London  was  not  considered  safe 
to  traverse  at  night  alone,  or  even  in  a limited 
company.  An  old  friend,  who  lived  then  in  Ken- 


VII] 


VILLAGE  OF  KENSINGTON 


ii  7 


sington  Square,  told  me  that  when  he  was  a boy  it 
had  long  been  the  custom  for  the  parish  bellman  to 
patrol  the  Square  from  nine  p.m.  for  half  an  hour 
on  Sunday  evenings,  ringing  his  bell  vigorously, 
which  summoned  all  those  who  had  to  walk  back  to 
London,  after  spending  a happy  day  in  Kensington, 
to  join  with  many  others  who  had  been  similarly 
employed,  and  become,  for  the  time,  a company  for 
mutual  protection  from  the  too  assiduous  attention 
of  mounted  highwaymen  and  footpads.  These  were 
the  days  when  it  was  possible  for  the  great  Duke  of 
Wellington,  when  warmly  supporting  in  the  House 
of  Lords  the  measure  for  establishing  the  London 
Police,  to  be  able  to  state  the  fact  of  his  mother’s 
carriage  having  been  stopped  in  Grosvenor  Place 
by  two  armed  horsemen,  splendidly  mounted,  who 
robbed  those  inside  of  their  purses  and  jewellery. 

Just  before  the  introduction  of  gas-lamps  to  light 
the  Bayswater  Road,  William  Mulready,  r.a.,  in 
walking  after  midnight  from  London,  was  stopped 
by  a footpad,  who  presented  a pistol  at  the  painters 
breast,  and  cleared  him  of  watch,  chain,  and  purse  ; 
the  thief  then  bolted  back  in  the  Oxford  Street 
direction  with  Mulready  after  him,  hoping  to  meet 


1 1 8 


HIGHWAYMEN 


[chap. 


some  of  “ the  patrolling  Bow  Street  officers  ” (as  they 
were  termed),  but  no  aid  presented  itself.  Still 
Mulready  persevered  and  stated  his  case  to  “the 
night  watch  ” in  Bow  Street,  and  did  more — he 
made  a sketch  of  his  assailant  from  memory.  This 
sketch  was  afterwards  the  means  of  helping  in  the 
conviction  of  the  villain,  for  the  attempted  murder 
of  the  toll-gate  keeper  at  Vauxhall,  for  which  crime 
he  was  hanged. 

At  the  risk  of  digression  from  Kensington,  I 
must  relate  a story  that  occurs  to  me  on  the  subject 
of  highwaymen.  One  of  the  chief  glories  of  the 
Edinburgh  National  Gallery  is  the  whole-length 
portrait,  by  Gainsborough,  of  Mrs.  Graham,  the 
lovely  wife  of  General  Graham,  one  of  Wellington’s 
most  efficient  and  eminently  gallant  lieutenants  in 
the  Peninsular  War. 

On  starting  for  their  honeymoon  in  a post-chaise 
they  had  not  gone  many  miles  before  they  were 
stopped  by  a highwayman,  who,  firing  at  the  post- 
boy, effectually  stopped  him  without  hitting  him, 
then  rode  up  to  the  chaise  and  thrust  a loaded 
pistol  in  at  the  window,  with  the  usual  demand  for 
the  purses.  Graham,  who  was  a man  of  wonderful 


VII]  GENERAL  GRAHAM’S  ADVENTURE  1 19 


strength  and  courage,  with  enormous  hands,  clapped 
his  right  hand  on  the  villains  fist  and  pistol,  and 
held  both  fast  down  upon  the  window  frame,  literally 
as  though  they  were  “ nailed  to  a counter.”  At  the 
same  time  he  seized  the  fellow  by  the  throat  through 
the  window  with  his  left  hand,  shouted  to  the  post- 
boy to  use  whip  and  spur  to  his  horses,  and  to  gallop 
as  hard  as  he  could  go  to  the  next  town,  which  happily 
was  not  far  off,  and  in  that  condition  they  dashed  up 
to  the  post-house.  This  was  also  a police-station,  and 
Graham  had  the  triumph  of  handing  up  the  bruised 
and  battered  wretch,  not  loosing  his  hold  till  he  had 
flung  him  into  a cell,  which  the  admiring  constables 
had  rushed  to  open  for  his  victim.  The  miserable 
creature,  being  a good  horseman,  had  managed  to 
keep  the  head  of  his  own  steed  in  line  without  fatal 
collision  with  the  wedding  chariot,  but  what  with 
the  hustling  he  got  from  Grahams  terrific  strength 
and  the  banging  against  the  chaise,  he  was  reduced 
to  almost  his  last  gasp  when  he  was  housed  in  gaol. 

Great  was  the  joy  of  the  young  husband  in  seeing 
the  wonderful  pluck  of  his  lovely  bride,  who  never 
lost  presence  of  mind,  and  showed  no  fear  through- 
out the  whole  of  the  fearful  scrimmage.  Mrs. 


120  PORTRAIT  OF  LADY  GRAHAM  [chap. 


Graham  lived  but  a few  years  of  happy  wedded  life, 
and  then  fell  into  rapid  consumption  and  died. 
The  effect  of  this  loss  upon  her  husband  was 
terrible,  and  after  trying  in  vain  to  master  his  intense 
grief,  he  gave  up  home  and  country  and  volunteered 
his  services  for  the  British  army  in  the  Peninsula. 
H ere  he  soon  distinguished  himself,  and  rose 
rapidly,  from  almost  the  ranks  of  the  army,  till  he 
became  a general  officer,  and  commanded  a division 
of  the  British  army  on  several  important  occasions, 
notably  at  Barossa,  where  he  obtained  a signal 
victory  over  the  French.  Before  he  left  England 
he  had  the  picture  of  his  wife  carefully  wrapped  up 
and  most  securely  packed,  and  so  it  remained  for 
thirty  or  forty  years.  On  his  return  (having  in  the 
meantime  been  created  a peer  of  the  realm  as  Lord 
Lynedoch,  in  acknowledgment  of  his  distinguished 
services)  he  thought  to  look  once  more  on  the  picture 
of  his  lovely  wife.  I was  told  that  the  revelation  on 
first  opening  the  case  was  fearful,  for  the  portrait  had 
become  blackened  and  discoloured  almost  beyond 
recognition  owing  to  absence  of  light  and  air.  It  is 
to  be  borne  in  mind  by  all  possessors  of  oil-pictures 
that  nothing  is  more  injurious  to  them  than  cover- 


VII]  DISCOLOURATION  OF  PICTURES  121 


ing  them  from  the  light  of  heaven,  for  the  intelligible 
reason  that,  the  bleaching  power  of  light  being  with- 
held from  the  surface  of  an  oil-picture,  the  oil  mixed 
with  the  colours  darkens,  and  ruins  the  artistic  effect 
altogether.  I will  give  another  striking  illus- 
tration of  this.  The  best  part  of  a century  ago  Sir 
A.  W.  Callcott,  r.a.,  painted,  on  commission  for  the 
Sir  Matthew  White- Ridley  of  those  days,  a large 
and  very  fine  picture  of  the  mouth  of  the  Tyne 
River  crowded  with  shipping.  It  was  remarkable 
for  its  splendid  light  and  breezy  sky.  When  the 
work  was  completed,  and  after  its  exhibition  at  the 
Royal  Academy,  it  was  hung  up  in  the  Ridley 
London  house,  which  at  the  time  had  been  vacated 
by  the  family,  who  had  gone  abroad  for  many 
months.  On  their  return  Callcott  was  horrified  on 
receiving  a note  from  the  owner,  to  say  that  the  sky 
of  the  picture  was  terribly  discoloured  with  dark 
patches  all  over  it,  and  begging  him  to  come  at  once 
to  examine  it,  and  pronounce  upon  the  treatment 
it  should  receive.  The  agitated  artist  was  soon 
face  to  face  with  his  damaged  work,  and  the 
housekeeper  was  summoned  to  state  what  she 
knew  on  the  subject.  She  then  described  the  care 
she  had  taken  to  swathe  picture  and  frame  with  the 


122 


RESTORATION  BY  SUNLIGHT  [cHap.  vii 


thick  yellow  gauze  material  with  which  all  the  gilt 
frames  in  the  house  were  covered  when  the  family 
left  town  for  any  lengthened  period.  Callcott  was 
convinced  himself  that  this  proceeding  was  the  chief 
factor  in  creating  the  damage,  and  elected  to  have 
the  picture  sent  to  his  Kensington  home,  so  as  to 
have  it  inspected  by  chemical  experts  under  his 
supervision.  It  was  late  in  the  summer  and  very 
hot  weather,  and  as  his  house  was  being  subjected 
to  elaborate  cleansing,  the  entire  contents  of  his 
painting-room  had  been  taken  into  the  garden  in 
front  of  his  old  house,  the  Mall,  Kensington  Gravel 
Pits.  The  picture  was  carefully  fixed  with  its  face 
fully  exposed  to  the  light  and  left  so  for  the  whole 
day.  To  Callcott’s  extreme  gratification,  on  look- 
ing at  it  when  it  was  brought  in  at  eventide,  many 
of  the  dark  spots  were  much  lighter,  and  after  many 
days  of  similar  treatment  the  whole  of  the  dark 
spots  disappeared.  Callcott  must  have  felt  infinitely 
relieved,  for  I have  heard  him  say  in  telling  the 
story  that  he  had  fully  calculated  on  having  to  paint 
the  sky  again.  I have  thought  well  to  record  this 
incident,  for  in  telling  the  story  to  brother  limners 
they  have  often  expressed  their  great  interest  in  the 
plain  facts  stated. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Her  Majesty  Queen  Victoria — Early  memories — The  young  Princess 
— The  Empress  Eugenie — Miss  Marianne  Skerrett,  Dresser  to  the 
Queen — Portrait  of  the  Princess  Beatrice — Birth  of  my  son  Victor 
— Walter  taken  to  be  inspected — Interviews  with  the  Queen — The 
Prince  Consort — Sir  G.  Cornewall  Lewis — Edwin  Landseer  as  a 
story-teller. 

VICTORIA  ALEXANDRINA,  Queen  of 
Queens,  honoured  and  well  beloved  the  wide 
world  over ! My  personal  knowledge  of  her  late 
Majesty  dates  from  my  sixth  year,  when,  in  common 
with  all  the  other  children  in  Kensington,  our  nurses 
took  us  for  our  walks,  where  we  might  have  a chance 
of  seeing  the  little  Princess.  We  children,  there- 
fore, saw  her  first  carried  in  her  nurses  arms,  then 
tucked  into  a donkey-pannier,  or  drawn  in  a little 
wheeled  carriage.  When  she  was  still  very  young 
she  would  be  on  a led  donkey  or  pony ; she  was  a 
delightful-looking  fair  child,  with  a most  kindly  ex- 
pression. After  the  days  of  her  extreme  youth  she 


123 


124 


THE  YOUNG  PRINCESS 


[chap. 


usually  had  a dog  or  two  in  her  company,  to  which 
she  was  most  devoted,  as  they  to  her.  The  royal 
young  lady  must  have  been  a born  horsewoman,  for 
she  was  soon  promoted  from  her  led  pony  to  a 
“light  arted  ” (a  Gloucestershire  expression)  cob, 
and  her  riding-party  generally  consisted  of  four  or 
five  ladies  and  gentlemen.  It  was  a charming  sight 
to  see  them  scampering  up  Church  Lane  at  a hand 
gallop,  passing  the  woodland  Campden  Grove,  past 
old  Campden  House  and  its  entrance  gates,  with  piers 
on  each  of  which  there  was  a capitally  carved  stone 
dog,  and  the  Princess,  who,  of  course,  led  the  caval- 
cade, with  a cool  and  experienced  equerry  at  her 
bridle  hand,  pulling  up  at  the  turnpike  gate  which 
barred  the  road,  just  opposite  the  stable  gate  of 
No.  i,  High  Row. 

The  children  of  the  Horsley  family  were  from 
their  bringing-up  extremely  loyal,  and  it  was  the 
main  daily  object  of  the  two  elder  girls’  lives  not  to 
miss  seeing  the  Princess  pass. 

They  knew  by  observation  the  probable  days  and 
hours  this  event  would  take  place,  and  they  took 
care  to  be  ready  for  going  out  at  the  exact  time. 
There  was  sparse  traffic  in  those  days  in  Church 


VIII] 


HER  MAJESTY'S  BOW 


125 


Lane,  and  from  one  of  the  upper  rooms  of  their 
abode  they  could  see  clearly  the  walls  of  Campden 
House  and  the  cavalcade  breasting  the  hill,  with  the 
Princess  at  its  head,  upon  which  they  flew  down  the 
staircase  to  reach  the  doorstep,  and  with  demure  and 
unruffled  countenances  to  make  low  obeisances  to 
the  “ goddess  of  their  idolatry,”  who  as  she  passed, 
according  to  the  girls’  account,  always  bestowed  a 
bow  upon  them  from  her  saddle.  No  one  who  saw 
it  can  forget  the  graceful  movement  with  which  she 
at  all  times  recognised  the  respect  and  sympathy  of 
the  public. 

I remember  a keen  observer  saying  that  he  had 
discovered  the  secret  of  Her  Majesty’s  grace,  on  the 
occasion  when  the  Queen  and  the  Empress  Eugenie 
stood  side  by  side  at  the  Crystal  Palace  on  the 
platform,  receiving  the  vociferous  cheers  of  tens  of 
thousands  of  enthusiastic  people.  Her  Majesty  was 
far  more  graceful  in  her  bows  than  the  Empress,  the 
reason  being  that  she  bowed  from  the  waist,  while 
the  Empress  bowed  simply  from  the  shoulders. 

Curiously  enough,  being  in  Paris  shortly  after  I 
heard  this  opinion,  the  Empress  of  the  French 
passed  in  an  open  carriage,  while  1 was  crossing 


126 


THE  EMPRESS  EUGENIE 


[chap. 


the  Place  de  la  Concorde.  I took  my  hat  off  and 
executed  a very  demonstrative  bow,  upon  which 
she,  sitting  upright  in  her  carriage,  accomplished  a 
series  of  jerky  bows,  such  as  Chinese  mandarin 
dolls  perform ; but  her  charming  face  and  figure  were 
always  attractive. 

We  were  still  young  when  an  incident  occurred 
which  greatly  increased  our  chances  of  hearing  facts 
about  Her  Majesty,  as  the  Princess  had  then  be- 
come. 

Through  our  aunt,  Lady  Callcott,  we  had  become 
intimately  acquainted  with  a delightful  woman,  Miss 
Marianne  Skerrett,  the  daughter  of  a gallant  officer, 
Colonel  Skerrett,  who  had  distinguished  himself  in 
the  Peninsular  War,  and  who  is  mentioned  with 
much  honour  by  Napier  in  his  History . His  daugh- 
ter was  a remarkable  personage!  To  begin  with, 
there  was  less  of  her  than  I ever  saw  in  any  woman; 
under  five  feet  in  height,  and  as  thin  as  a shred  of 
paper,  she  had  a face  of  the  brightest  intelligence, 
but  of  almost  comical  plainness  of  feature.  Her 
mind  was  of  the  purest  and  strongest,  sustained  by 
devout  Christian  faith,  and  illumined  by  brightest 
intelligence.  She  was  a remarkable  linguist  and 


VIII] 


MARIANNE  SKERRETT 


127 


a widely  read  and  cultivated  woman.  Such  was 
Marianne  Skerrett  when  Her  Majesty  came  to  the 
throne,  and  it  was  not  long  after  this  event  that  the 
ministers  felt  the  vital  need  of  appointing  some  lady 
to  a position  about  the  Queen’s  household  who 
should  always  be  at  hand,  and  upon  whose  judgment 
the  Queen  could  rely  for  immediate  advice.  In  fact, 
the  lady  was  to  unite  the  accomplishments  of  an 
efficient  private  secretary  with  all  the  virtues  it  is 
possible  to  conceive  in  connection  with  such  a post. 

At  this  date  the  late  Marchioness  of  Lansdowne 
was  Mistress  of  the  Robes  to  the  young  Queen.  It 
occurred  to  her  to  consult  her  intimate  friend  Lady 
Callcott,  who  listened  to  the  account  of  what  was 
wanted,  and  answered  that  she  had  been  deeply 
interested  with  every  word  of  the  description,  and 
presumed  Lady  Lansdowne  would  be  not  a little 
surprised  to  hear  that  she  could  unhesitatingly  name 
a person  who  was  more  particularly  fitted  than  any 
other  she  had  ever  known  for  the  proposed  office, 
and  that  the  person  was  Marianne  Skerrett ! 

Then,  in  order  to  accomplish  the  main  object  in 
view,  namely  opportunity  for  intimate  and  constant 
intercourse  between  Her  Majesty  and  Miss  Skerrett, 


128 


A WONDERFUL  WOMAN 


[chap. 


it  was  arranged  that  the  latter  should  be  offered  an 
appointment  as  Head  Dresser,  with  the  care  of 
jewellery,  to  Her  Majesty — which  she  at  once 
accepted.  She  took  the  most  solemn  view  of  her 
new  responsibility.  To  her  pure  and  faithful  mind 
there  was  something  inexpressibly  touching  in  the 
position  of  the  Queen  at  the  time  of  her  marriage, 
and  her  feeling  became  one  of  absolute  devotion, 
and  a fervent  desire  to  do  anything  and  everything 
for  the  highest  and  best  interests  of  her  royal 
mistress. 

How  successful  she  was  is  best  proved  by  the 
words  of  Sir  Edwin  Landseer. 

He  was  expressing  his  enthusiastic  admiration 
for  her,  and  wound  up  by  saying,  “She  is  the 
dearest  and  most  wonderful  little  woman  I ever 
knew.  If  anything  goes  wrong  in  Buckingham 
Palace,  Balmoral,  or  Windsor,  whether  a crowned 
head  or  a scullery  maid  is  concerned,  Miss  Skerrett 
is  always  sent  for  to  put  it  right ! ” 

We  rarely  saw  her  at  this  time,  she  was  so 
absorbed  by  the  requirements  of  her  office,  but  she 
and  my  youngest  sister  were  greatly  attached 
friends  and  constant  correspondents,  so  we  were 


VIII] 


THE  PRINCESS  BEATRICE 


129 


kept  well  up  to  date  with  Miss  Skerrett  and  her 
work.  Of  course,  she  must  have  had  her  failings, 
but  we  were  only  acquainted  with  one  of  them,  and 
that  was  the  terrible  illegibility  of  her  handwriting. 
My  sister,  from  long  practice,  had  acquired  the  art 
of  deciphering  her  hieroglyphics,  but  when  I received 
notes  from  her,  I at  once  posted  them  to  sister 
Sophy,  and  received  from  her  a readable  copy. 

Miss  Skerrett  told  me  of  an  incident  that  hap- 
pened a few  days  after  she  entered  Her  Majesty’s 
service.  The  Queen  was  speaking  to  her  con- 
fidentially about  her  duties,  and  she  said  that  when 
she  was  informed  by  the  Prime  Minister  that  it  was 
considered  desirable  that  she  should  have  some  lady 
in  close  attendance,  “ I expected  that  she  would  be 
a lady  of  commanding  presence  and  great  dignity  ; 
and,”  continued  Her  Majesty,  “when  you,  you  little 
thing,  were  presented  to  me,  I had  difficulty  to 
keep  from  laughing  in  your  face ! ” 

One  day  in  the  early  summer  of  1858  I received 
a note  from  Miss  Skerrett,  unusually  brief  and 
legible,  which  was  to  convey  Her  Majesty’s  com- 
mand that  I should  paint  a portrait  of  the  Princess 
Beatrice.  I may  mention  that  on  the  same  day 


130  VICTOR  ALEXANDER  HADEN  [cHap. 


that  the  Princess  was  born,  April  14th,  1857,  a son 
was  added  to  my  family,  and  that  two  days  later  I 
had  received  through  Miss  Skerrett  a gracious 
intimation  of  Her  Majesty’s  pleasure  that  my  child 
should  be  called  Victor  Alexander  after  her.  One 
of  Miss  Skerrett’s  duties  was  to  read  to  Her 
Majesty,  and  only  two  days  after  the  birth  of  the 
Princess  Beatrice,  when  she  was  reading  the  an- 
nouncements of  births,  marriages,  etc.,  the  arrival  at 
No.  1,  High  Row,  was  noted,  and  Miss  Skerrett  told 
us  that  there  was  quite  a lively  discussion  between 
Her  Majesty  and  the  Prince  Consort  as  to  whether 
there  was  any  good  masculine  version  of  the  name 
Beatrice,  on  which  they  had  already  decided  for  the 
Princess,  which  could  be  bestowed  upon  my  son. 
The  Prince  said  he  could  think  of  none,  unless  it 
were  Beator.  Her  Majesty  laughingly  agreed  with 
him  that  this  would  not  be  a generally  acceptable 
name,  and  the  above-mentioned  intimation  was  then 
sent.  So  the  boy  was  christened  Victor  Alexander 
Haden,  and,  as  Victor  Horsley,  has  proved  himself 
worthy  of  the  name,  if  to  say  so  may  be  permitted 
to  a father. 

To  return  to  the  portrait  of  the  Princess  Beatrice 


viii]  A ROYAL  BABY  13 1 

painted  in  1858.  There  was  to  be  no  delay  in  the 
matter,  as  the  picture  was  intended  for  a birthday 
present  to  the  Prince  Consort.  All  the  arrange- 
ments were  placed  in  Miss  Skerrett’s  hands, 
and  the  suite  of  rooms  vacated  by  the  Princess 
Royal  on  her  marriage  to  the  Crown  Prince  of 
Prussia  were  assigned  to  me  for  my  work.  On  my 
arrival  I was  met  by  Miss  Skerrett  with  a message 
that  Her  Majesty  regretted  she  could  not  at  once 
see  me  to  talk  over  the  general  arrangement  of  the 
picture,  but  that  she  would  do  so  later.  Then  the 
nurse,  Mrs.  Thurston,  came  in  with  the  royal  baby 
in  her  arms,  a most  charming  little  child,  as  good 
as  gold  as  a sitter.  I proposed  that  the  back- 
ground to  the  dimpled  babe  should  be  a glimpse  of 
Osborne  and  the  sea,  with  a flowery  foreground, 
and  was  desirous  to  rub  in  the  background  so  as  to 
be  prepared  for  Her  Majesty’s  criticisms.  While 
thus  engaged  I heard  a slight  tap  at  the  door,  and 
imagining  it  was  the  welcome  tea  which  Miss 
Skerrett  had  told  me  to  expect,  I called  out,  “ Come 
in ! ” in  a cheerful  voice ; the  door  opened,  and  in 
came  Her  Majesty,  quite  unattended. 

I had  heard  from  my  painter  friends,  who  had 

ij 


132  THE  INSPECTION  OF  WALTER  [cHap. 


executed  important  pictures  for  the  Queen,  of  royal 
marriages,  and  other  state  proceedings,  that  Her 
Majesty  always  came  to  her  sittings  attended  by  a 
lady-in-waiting,  who  stood  whilst  the  Queen  re- 
mained, which  was  exactly  an  hour,  but  as  Her 
Majesty  always  came  as  I have  described,  and  rarely 
missed  one  of  the  sittings,  I concluded  that  she 
could  not  consider  the  portrait  of  a little  child  of 
thirteen  months  a serious  affair  of  state. 

The  day  after  the  first  sitting  Her  Majesty  was 
pleased  to  say  to  me  she  would  like  to  see  our 
baby,  so  the  baby  Victor  was  taken  to  see  Her 
Majesty  by  Mrs.  Horsley,  and  duly  admired.  A 
few  days  later  the  Queen  said  to  me,  “ But  you 
have  other  sons  beside  your  baby  boy,”  and  added 
that  she  should  like  to  see  my  eldest  son,  who  in 
due  course  was  brought  by  Miss  Horsley  for  royal 
inspection. 

Our  nursery,  like  most  others  of  the  period,  was 
decorated  with  portraits  of  the  Royal  Family  from 
illustrated  papers,  so  that  the  children  had  thus  be- 
come familiar  with  their  names.  The  child,  I may 
say,  was  a favourable  specimen  of  a three-year-old. 
Her  Majesty  took  him  from  his  mother’s  arms,  and 


VIII]  INTERVIEWS  WITH  THE  QUEEN  133 


seated  herself  on  the  carpet  with  him  on  her  lap, 
whilst  she  looked  on  with  Miss  Skerrett,  Just  before 
the  Queen’s  entrance  she  had  given  the  child  a 
little  mother-of-pearl  pocket-knife.  “Who  gave  you 
that?”  said  Her  Majesty.  “That  lady,”  said  Walter, 
pointing  to  the  “little  thing.”  “And  who  is  that 
lady?”  asked  the  Queen.  Without  a moment’s 
hesitation  he  answered,  “The  Princess  Royal.” 
Never  have  I heard  such  a burst  of  hearty  laughter 
as  came  from  the  Queen,  and  again  and  again  was 
it  repeated  as  she  swayed  about  with  the  child  in 
her  arms  on  the  floor.  These  pleasant  scenes  took 
place  in  the  leafy  month  of  June,  which  was  as  re- 
markable for  the  continuance  of  fine  weather  as  in 
the  year  of  grace  1901.  No  young  married  woman 
could  have  looked  brighter  and  happier  than  did  our 
late  beloved  and  revered  Queen. 

I remember  that  she  was  very  anxious  to  keep 
the  birthday  present  a secret  from  the  Prince  Con- 
sort, and  she  used  to  express  a hope  that  I should 
not  meet  him  in  the  corridor,  lest  perhaps  he  might 
inquire  what  I was  doing  for  Her  Majesty.  With 
what  pleasure  I looked  forward  to  my  almost  daily 
interviews  with  the  Queen!  Her  charming  face  and 


134  WILKIE’S  “ BLIND  MAN’S  BUFF”  [chap. 


form  were  grateful  to  the  artistic  eye,  and  we  had 
long  and  delightful  conversations  about  painters 
and  pictures.  In  the  room  where  I worked  for  the 
Queen  were  some  of  Wilkie’s  best  early  works,  such 
as  ‘‘The  Penny  Wedding”  and  “Blind  Man’s 
Buff,”  and  some  of  his  later  works,  painted  after 
his  return  from  Spain.  I used  to  feast  by  the  hour 
on  those  pictures,  and  I pointed  out  to  the  Queen 
a discovery  I had  made  in  the  “ Blind  Man’s  Buff,” 
which  interested  Her  Majesty  greatly.  At  one 
period  of  the  picture’s  growth  the  male  figure  in 
the  group  running  round  the  “ blind  man  ” had  on 
a long  light  coat  reaching  below  the  knees,  and 
doubtless  feeling  that  the  concealment  of  the 
figure  took  from  him  an  opportunity  of  delineat- 
ing rapid  movement,  Wilkie  had  painted  out  the 
coat-tails  and  turned  the  garment  into  a jacket, 
without  previously  scraping  the  canvas,  a curious 
omission  for  such  an  elaborate  executant,  for 
he  must  have  known  that  “ pentemente,”  as  the 
Italian  artists  called  such  over-painting,  always 
comes  out  in  the  course  of  time,  revealing  the  old 
work  underneath.  Wilkie  knew  so  well  the  loss 
to  the  designer  in  hiding  important  points  of 


VIII] 


THE  PRINCE  CONSORT 


135 


form  in  the  human  figure,  that  after  making  a 
sketch  for  a composition  with  many  figures  in  it, 
he  would  count  the  number,  and  then  the  number 
of  hands  displayed,  and  if  these  did  not  amount  to 
nearly  a pair  apiece  he  would  alter  the  sketch, 
feeling  strongly  that  to  omit  a hand  was  deliberately 
to  lose  a vital  point  of  expression. 

I found  Her  Majesty,  with  her  keen  intelligence 
and  art  sympathy,  always  much  interested  in  such 
suggestive  explanations  as  the  above. 

Whilst  I was  painting  this  picture,  Her  Majesty 
and  His  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  Consort  went 
to  Birmingham  to  open  the  New  Park  there,  and 
were  absent  for  some  days.  The  great  heat  of  the 
weather,  added  to  the  fatigues  of  the  journey,  quite 
knocked  up  the  Prince,  whilst  they  had  no  ill-effect 
whatever  on  the  Queen,  whose  constitution  was  far 
more  vigorous.  This  indisposition  perhaps  made 
the  Queens  desire,  that  he  should  not  know  about 
the  portrait  until  it  was  presented,  easier  of  accom- 
plishment. I personally  much  regretted  not  seeing 
him,  as  in  the  many  interviews  I had  with  him 
touching  the  Royal  Commission  work,  I had  found 
him  a delightful  talker  and  a well-informed  and 
intelligent  critic  on  art  questions. 


136 


SIR  G.  C.  LEWIS’S  OPINION 


[CHAP. 


The  difficulty  was  sometimes  to  remember  the 
social  gulf  between  us,  when  on  occasions  he  would 
lead  the  way  up  the  palace  stairs,  two  steps  at  a 
time,  to  shows  me  works  of  art  in  various  rooms 
that  he  wished  to  discuss  with  me. 

His  freedom  of  manner  on  such  occasions  con- 
trasted curiously  with  his  formality  when  receiving 
information  from  some  lordly  official  who  brought 
him  communications  for  consideration,  which  broke 
the  thread  of  his  artistic  discussions. 

He  had  a regularly  appointed  painting-room,  and 
sometimes  he  showed  me  small  pictures  in  progress 
taken  from  subjects  in  Scott  or  other  authors,  but 
with  his  unfailing  tact  he  never  embarrassed  me  by 
inviting  criticism  upon  them. 

Sir  George  Cornewall  Lewis  has  recorded  his 
opinion  that  the  Prince  Consort  was  the  only  man 
whom  he  had  ever  known  intimately  to  whom  he 
could  unhesitatingly  apply  the  epithet  of  “good,” 
and,  I believe,  this  opinion  of  him  would  be  con- 
firmed by  all  who  had  been  brought  in  contact  with 
him  in  the  grave  concerns  of  life. 

He  had  not  much  sympathy  with  the  lighter  side 
of  life,  and  rather  disliked  jokes,  especially  if  they 


VIII] 


LANDSEER’S  STORIES 


137 


were  in  the  least  far-fetched.  A story  of  Edwin 
Landseer’s  amusingly  illustrates  this. 

When  the  royal  pair  were  first  established  at 
their  happy  Scotch  home,  no  guest  was  more  fre- 
quently summoned  there  than  the  great  painter, 
Edwin  Landseer.  Her  Majesty  fully  shared  his 
interest  in  the  animal  creation,  and  she  had  also 
quickly  discovered  his  gifts  as  a raconteur , and 
never  tired  of  his  numerous  anecdotes,  which  he  had 
the  ready  wit  to  add  to  and  to  alter  at  discretion. 

One  evening  after  the  Prince  had  suggested  that 
it  was  getting  late,  the  usual  hour  for  retiring  being 
somewhat  passed,  the  Oueen  appealed  to  Landseer 
for  one  more  story,  which  was  to  be  the  last. 

The  Prince  leaned  back  with  an  air  of  resignation, 
and  Landseer  dashed  into  a story  he  had  not  told 
before,  of  a friend  who  had  trained  a collie  to  find 
money  in  a marvellous  way.  One  day  on  the 
moors  he  had  a wager  that  he  would  send  the  dog 
away  with  a keeper,  then  hide  a five-pound  note, 
call  the  dog  to  heel,  and  tell  him  to  find  the  note. 
“Did  he  do  so?”  said  the  Queen,  with  amused 
eagerness.  “Well,  your  Majesty,  not  the  note,  but 
he  brought  back  the  five  sovereigns  in  change ! ” 


138 


DOG  STORIES 


[CHAP. 


The  harmless  badinage  of  this  story  made  the 
Queen  laugh  heartily,  and  the  Prince  gently  smiled, 
upon  which  Landseer  was  tempted  to  tell  them 
another  in  which  there  was  a touch  of  such  genuine 
humour  as  to  rouse  His  Royal  Highness  to  express 
approval.  It  was  an  incident  connected  with  dog- 
stealers.  Landseer  began  by  admitting  that  he  had 
relations  with  a member  of  the  profession,  who 
sometimes  brought  him  very  valuable  dogs  to  paint 
from.  An  old  friend  who  knew  of  this  came  one 
day  in  great  distress  to  ask  Landseers  aid  in  re- 
gaining possession  of  his  dog  which  was  lost.  The 
introduction  was  given,  and  one  day  the  friend  came 
to  say  that  the  dealer  in  dogs  had  brought  him  news 
of  his  dog,  and  that  for  the  payment  of  £5  he 
would  receive  him  safely  back  in  a fortnight’s  time, 
but  that  when  remonstrated  with  on  the  delay,  he 
had  gruffly  said  that  if  any  more  was  said  the  dog 
would  not  come  back  at  all.  When  the  affair  was 
settled  Landseer  was  still  curious  as  to  the  cause 
of  the  delay,  and  the  next  time  he  saw  his  ally  he 
asked  an  explanation.  This  was  his  reply  : “Well, 
sir,  I don’t  mind  telling  you  that  it  was  I who  got 
your  friend’s  dog  in  the  first  instance’’  (“got”  is  the 


VIII] 


THE  DOG  STEALER 


139 


euphemism  for  stole),  “and  when  you  sent  him  to  me 
about  the  dawg,  I had  sold  him  to  another  gent  for 
a big  price,  so  I thought  it  only  fair  to  that  there 
gent  to  let  him  keep  the  dawg  for  a fortnight  before 
I got  him  again,  don’t  you  see,  sir  ? ” This  very 
curious  instance  of  honour  among  thieves  made 
Landseer  realise  that  the  man  was  a rather  danger- 
ous acquaintance,  and  he  dropped  him  as  an  agent. 

When,  to  the  Prince  Consort’s  evident  relief,  they 
adjourned  to  their  rooms,  and  Landseer  was  un- 
dressing, there  was  a tap  at  the  door,  and  one  of 
the  gentlemen-in-waiting  came  in  with  a message  to 
tell  Landseer  from  the  Prince  that  the  Queen  had 
not  believed  the  story  of  the  five-pound  note ! 


CHAPTER  IX 


Sir  Henry  Holland  — Sidney  Smith — Moore’s  songs — Monckton 
Milnes — William  Rickman  and  George  Maule — The  abbey  in 
Knightsbridge — The  Abbess’  dancing-class — The  polka — Denman 
— Scene  at  Strathfieldsaye. 


VIONG  the  many  pleasant  houses  I had  the 


privilege  of  frequenting  was  that  of  Sir  Henry 
Holland,  the  well-known  physician  and  traveller. 
When  I first  knew  him  his  daughter  had  married 
Sidney  Smith,  as  his  second  wife.  The  Hollands 
were  living  in  one  of  the  old  houses  in  Brook 
Street,  which  was  full  of  character,  and  in  which 
they  used  to  give  very  delightful  musical  evenings. 
In  the  back  drawing-room  there  was  a shallow 
alcove  on  one  side  of  the  room.  In  this,  Sidney 
Smith,  who  was  present  on  all  these  occasions,  held 
quite  a little  court,  and  all  the  smartest  ladies 
crowded  round  him  to  listen  to  his  inimitable  wit 
and  humour.  Coming  in  late  one  evening,  I found 
the  music-room,  the  front  drawing-room,  entirely 


140 


CHAP.  IX] 


SIDNEY  SMITH 


4 


filled  with  a gay  party  listening  to  some  of  the 
opera  singers  of  that  time,  while  Sidney  Smith  was 
amusing  a circle  of  his  intimates  in  his  alcove,  but 
so  sotto  voce  that  he  really  gave  the  impression 
that  he  was  not  the  cause  of  all  the  laughter,  but 
rather  that  he  was  the  restraining  influence  over  his 
audience,  keeping  them  quiet.  Presently,  on  the 
completion  of  the  music  for  the  moment,  there  was 
the  usual  rush  from  the  crowded  room,  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  crowd  came  staggering  out  a poor  old 
lady,  evidently  past  the  fourscore  years,  bent  upon 
escape.  She  was  a wonderful  sight,  gaily  decked 
as  to  the  coiffure  with  glistening  green  beetles,  that 
were  so  fastened  to  hairpins  as  to  be  constantly 
fluttering,  her  dress  shockingly  cticolletd — marvel- 
lously like  the  figure  of  the  old  harridan  bride  in 
“ The  Rake’s  Progress.”  The  instant  Smith’s  eyes 
fell  on  her  he  jumped  upon  his  feet  and  made  for 
her,  uttering  as  he  advanced,  “My  dear  Lady  So- 
and-so,  how  are  you,  how  are  you  ? ” The  poor  old 
thing  looked  at  him  with  a weary,  distrait  manner. 
He  grasped  her  hands  and  went  on:  “I  am  sure 
you  have  been  delighted  with  the  music,  for  if  ever 
I saw  a face  of  rapture  it  is  yours  ! ” 


142 


TOM  MOORE’S  SONG 


[chap. 


On  another  occasion  at  a dinner  at  Tom  Long- 
man’s, where  I spent  some  of  the  pleasantest 
evenings  in  my  society  days,  I met  a remarkable 
party,  Sidney  Smith,  Macaulay,  Monckton  Milnes, 
Tom  Moore,  Dundas,  and  others.  I had  never  met 
Moore  before,  and  did  not  know  that  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  being  coaxed  into  what  he  called  singing, 
but  what  was  really  a sort  of  recitation  to  his  own 
accompaniment  on  the  piano.  Mrs.  Longman  was 
a most  charming  woman,  and  she  had  an  entrancing 
contralto  voice  in  which  she  used  to  sing  Schubert’s 
“ Addio  ” to  perfection.  She  had  the  liquid, 
languishing  eyes  which  often  go  with  a strain  of 
Southern  blood.  The  usual  coaxing  went  on, 
headed  by  Mrs.  Longman  and  carried  on  by  the 
other  ladies.  Finally  the  little  wizened  man,  who,  I 
heard,  would  often  bring  some  of  the  young  ladies 
to  their  knees  in  entreaty,  gave  in  with  well- 
feigned  reluctance  and  played  a few  somewhat 
halting  chords.  I was  at  that  moment  talking  to 
Dundas,  and  knowing  the  ways  of  the  house,  where 
music  was  treated  with  due  respect,  I said  : “ Now, 
sir,  we  must  be  quiet.”  “ Oh  yes,  I know,” 
answered  Dundas,  taking  up  a book  and  throwing 


IX] 


MONCKTON  MILNES 


143 


himself  back  in  a chair  with  an  expression  of  some 
boredom.  Moore  caught  sight  of  him,  and  jumping 
to  his  feet  he  rushed  up  to  him,  exclaiming  in  a 
hoarse  whisper  : “ For  Gods  sake,  Dundas,  put  that 
book  down,  I couldn’t  sing  a note  with  anyone 
reading  a book  in  the  room.”  So  Dundas  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  slammed  the  book,  threw  it  on  the 
table,  and  folding  his  arms  and  crossing  his  legs, 
prepared  himself  for  martyrdom.  Moore  returned 
to  the  piano.  Though  he  had  not  a spark  of  tune 
in  his  voice,  the  poet’s  recitation  of  his  own  fervent 
words  to  occasional  chords  was  a most  intensely 
interesting  performance,  really  impressive ; it  was 
quite  wonderful  to  hear  the  spirit  with  which  he 
declaimed  “ Come  o’er  the  sea,  maiden,  with  me.” 
During  the  dinner,  at  which  as  I have  said 
Monckton  Milnes  was  present,  to  whom  Sidney 
Smith  some  years  ago  had  given  the  sobriquet, 
the  “ Cool  of  the  Evening,”  we  all  noticed  that 
his  manner  to  the  great  man  was  markedly  lacking 
in  the  respect  due  to  him,  to  his  age  and  profession. 
He  repeatedly  calmly  addressed  him  as  “ Smith,” 
which  every  time  made  those  of  us  who  felt  what 
was  due  wince  as  if  at  a personal  affront.  The  lion 


144  THE  “COOL  OF  THE  EVENING”  [chap. 


bided  his  time,  when  the  great  paw  descended 
crushingly. 

“ I am  going  to  the  Archbishop’s  reception  at 
Lambeth  Palace,”  said  Milnes,  somewhat  with  an  air. 

“ Oh,  are  you  ? ” answered  Sidney  Smith.  “ So  am 
I ; may  I ask  if  you  have  a carriage  here  ? ” 

“No,”  said  the  “Cool  of  the  Evening,”  “I  have 
not.” 

“ Well,  I have,  and  I shall  be  very  happy  to  give 
you  a seat  in  it,  but  you  must  do  me  one  favour, 
don’t  call  the  Archbishop  ‘ Hooley'  /” 

The  voice  and  manner  of  piteous  entreaty  was 
such  as  to  for  once  crush  Milnes,  who  promptly 
disappeared;  but  I think  he  went  in  Sidney  Smith’s 
carriage  after  all,  for  I remember  we  tried  to  depict 
his  feelings,  seated  all  the  way  from  Hanover 
Terrace  to  Lambeth  Palace  beside  the  man  who 
had  given  him  such  an  awful  floorer. 

It  may  be  news  to  some  of  my  readers  to  hear 
that  Monckton  Milnes  was  the  inventor  of  the 
white  waistcoat  on  dress  occasions,  thus  giving 
the  deathblow  to  the  gorgeous  Genoese  cut  velvet 
waistcoats  of  the  period.  A great  sensation  was 
caused  by  his  appearance  for  the  first  time  in  dress 


IX] 


WILLIAM  RICKMAN 


145 


clothes  with  a white  waistcoat  in  the  House  of 
Commons. 

Amongst  the  intimate  friends  of  my  early  man- 
hood were  two  young  men  named  William  Rickman 
and  George  Maule.  The  father  of  the  first-named 
was  one  of  those  highly  respected  gentlemen  in  wig 
and  gown,  called,  I think,  Clerks  to  the  House  of 
Commons,  who  sit  at  the  Speakers  table  in  the 
House  of  Commons  during  parliamentary  debates, 
and  supply  all  kinds  of  legal  and  other  information 
connected  with  the  questions  debated  in  the  House 
to  members,  whose  knowledge  is  often  very  limited 
in  respect  to  their  parliamentary  labours.  Maule’s 
father  was  Solicitor  to  the  Treasury.  Both  these 
young  men  were  delightful  examples  of  God-fearing 
English  gentlemen.  They  distinguished  themselves 
at  Oxford,  and  both  of  them  desired  to  become 
civil  engineers,  which  laudable  desire  was  never 
carried  out,  to  the  detriment  of  themselves  and  their 
country  I sincerely  believe.  But  Maule’s  father 
was  naturally  anxious  that  his  old-established  house 
of  business  should  have  the  support  of  his  son’s  fine 
character  and  remarkable  mental  powers.  His 


L 


146 


GEORGE  MAULE 


[CHAP. 


memory  was  quite  astounding.  I am  writing  now 
of  times  when  most  readers  of  current  literature 
were  on  the  tenterhooks  of  impatience,  waiting  for 
the  monthly  portions  of  Dickens  or  Thackeray, 
as  the  case  might  be,  and  I have  heard  Maule 
challenged  to  listen  to  a passage  from  one  of  these 
well-known  authors,  and  then  to  continue  the  quota- 
tion from  memory,  which  he  would  often  do  for 
half  an  hour  or  more  with  startling  success. 

The  two  friends  started  a bachelors’  establish- 
ment in  some  remarkable  suites  of  chambers  in 
Knightsbridge. 

Many  will  remember  the  sensation  made  by  the 
building  of  those  lofty  blocks  of  houses  right  and 
left  of  Albert  Gate,  which  were  christened,  when 
they  were  built,  “ Malta  and  Gibraltar,”  because  it 
was  impossible  that  either  of  them  “could  ever  be 
taken  ” because  of  their  preposterous  proportions  ; 
but  the  park  wit,  whoever  he  or  she  might  be,  was 
confuted  by  the  one  on  the  eastern  side  being 
secured  as  the  London  residence  of  the  French 
Ambassador,  and  that  on  the  western  by  some 
millionaire.  It  now  warehouses  millions  as  a joint- 
stock  bank. 


IX]  THE  ABBEY  IN  KNIGHTSBRIDGE  147 

Rickman  and  Maule  became  aware  that  some 
chambers  were  to  let  in  an  establishment  next  door 
to  the  French  Embassy,  where  the  arms  of  the  great 
Florentine  family  of  the  Medici — three  golden  balls — 
were  displayed,  which  armorial  bearings  are  known 
to  indicate,  in  plain  English,  a pawnbroker’s  shop. 

They  had  often  discussed  the  desirability  of 
founding  an  abbey,  of  which  Rickman  should  be 
Abbot  and  Maule  the  General  Manager.  It  had 
been  agreed  that  there  should  be  not  only  monks 
but  nuns,  with  a lady  abbess  to  look  after  them  in 
the  person  of  Miss  Fanny  Maule,  George  Maule’s 
sister.  The  friends  lost  no  time  in  inspecting  the 
rooms  offered  for  letting,  and  to  their  infinite  delight 
found  that  they  suited  their  contemplated  scheme 
admirably.  It  appeared  that  the  chambers  had 
been  originally  built  by  a professor  of  the  ‘‘golden 
balls,”  who  dealt  not  only  with  objects  of  “bigotry 
and  virtue,”  but  also  with  articles  of  furniture,  for 
which  a large  gallery  with  a top  light  had  been 
constructed.  Opening  out  of  this  and  on  the  same 
floor  were  several  smaller  rooms.  But  the  gallery 
was  the  great  attraction,  making  as  it  did  a perfect 
ballroom. 


148 


THE  POLKA 


[chap. 


The  Abbot  Rickman  was  a man  of  means  and 
leisure,  and  devoted  to  society,  balls  especially. 

In  establishing  his  community  of  monks  and 
nuns,  it  may  be  stated  that  the  nuns  had  not  the 
free  run  of  the  club,  but  were  only  admitted  by 
invitation  on  special  occasions. 

My  friend  the  Abbot  had  the  strongest  predilec- 
tion for  turning  night  into  day,  and  the  abbey  was 
as  a rule  only  open  at  eleven  p.m.,  when  arriving 
members  were  greeted  in  the  most  hilarious  way  in 
the  brightest  and  cheeriest  of  rooms  with  blazing 
fires  and  lights.  There  were  many  brilliant  men 
and  charming  women  in  the  community,  and  no  one 
who  had  the  privilege  of  belonging  to  it  will  ever 
forget  the  charm  and  gaiety  of  youth  and  light 
spirits  that  characterised  our  midnight  meetings. 

We  were  most  of  us  devoted  to  dancing,  and  when 
the  polka  was  introduced,  the  Abbess  formed  a 
dancing-class,  held  in  one  of  the  smaller  rooms. 
Perhaps  few  of  my  readers  know  what  an  absolute 
craze  there  was  for  the  polka  when  it  was  first 
introduced  ; it  infected  dignified  matrons,  mothers 
of  large  families,  and  middle-aged  gentlemen  of 
pronounced  contours.  I was  one  of  the  first  pupils 


IX] 


STRATHFIELDSAYE 


149 


to  learn  the  art  from  the  charming  Abbess,  and  as 
soon  as  I was  pronounced  proficient,  I remember 
rushing  into  the  ballroom  to  my  partner  and  show- 
ing my  proficiency.  Any  of  us  who  made  mistakes 
were  at  once  sent  back  to  the  class. 

The  smoking-room  had  a characteristic  point 
which  must  be  recorded.  There  was  a large  settee 
in  the  middle,  with  a chintz  valance  ; this,  when 
lifted  up,  revealed  a barrel  of  Bass’s  ale,  always  on 
tap,  this  being  before  the  days  of  ‘‘whiskies  and 
sodas.” 

Amongst  the  habitues  I well  remember  Cyril 
Page,  one  of  the  ablest  clergymen  in  the  London 
diocese,  who  did  famous  work  amongst  the  poor  ; 
Henry  Phillips,  son  of  the  academician  ; George 
Maule’s  brothers,  men  of  some  note  ; also  young 
Denman,  afterwards  Lord  Denman  and  a famous 
judge. 

Of  him  Maule  told  me  a delightful  story  worth 
recording. 

On  one  occasion,  during  the  assizes  at  Reading, 
the  judges  were  staying  at  Strathfieldsaye  with  the 
great  Duke,  who  entertained  them  hospitably.  The 
Duke  had  various  harmless  eccentricities. 


BLACK  OR  GREEN  TEA? 


[CHAP.  IX 


150 

One  was  that  at  breakfast-time  his  favourite  man- 
servant used  to  bring  in  a long  tray,  upon  which 
were  a number  of  small  and  beautiful  silver  teapots, 
one  for  each  guest.  Those  were  days  when  people 
were  given  their  choice  of  black  or  green  tea.  The 
Duke  himself  put  the  tea  into  each  pot,  questioning 
his  guest  individually.  “What  tea  do  you  take,  sir, 
black  or  green  ? ” was  asked  in  stentorian  tones. 
Now  young  Denman,  who  was  acting  as  marshal 
to  his  father,  had  been  consumed  with  nervousness 
ever  since  he  entered  the  house  at  the  very  thought 
of  converse  with  his  distinguished  host,  and  when 
the  question  was  shouted  at  him  as  to  black  or 
green  the  bashful  youth  hesitated,  stammered,  and 
when  the  question  was  put  a second  time  with  some 
impatience,  the  reply  came  out  with  a rush  at  last, 
“ I take  it  mixed,  your  Grace.” 

The  Duke  was  taken  aback  at  the  unaccustomed 
answer,  but  in  a moment  roared  out,  “ Take  Mr. 
Denman  two  pots.” 

The  table  was  convulsed. 


CHAPTER  X 


Felix  Mendelssohn  Bartholdy — First  visit  to  England — An  introduc- 
tion to  him — Extempore  playing — His  kindness — Moscheles — 
Amusing  duets — Henschel’s  singing  of  Si.  Paul — George  Eliot — 
Mendelssohn  at  St.  Paul’s — Walks  in  London — Sundays  at 
High  Row — The  Elijah — Joachim’s  debut — Mendelssohn  as  an 
artist. 


THE  fame  of  this  resplendent  musical  genius 
had  preceded  his  appearance  in  England  by 
many  years.  He  came  to  London  for  the  first 
time  in  1826,  but  long  before  this  his  name  was  a 
household  word  at  High  Row,  for  not  only  had  we 
heard  constantly  of  the  wonders  of  Felix’s  piano- 
forte and  organ  playing,  but  we  had  become  in- 
timately acquainted  with  one  of  his  bosom  friends, 
Carl  Klingemann,  an  accomplished  German  gentle- 
man, then  attached  to  the  Hanoverian  Embassy  in 
London.  From  him  we  heard  wondrous  accounts 
of  Felix  and  his  family,  as  also  from  Ignace 
Moscheles  and  his  wife.  The  former  was  a dis- 
tinguished German  musician  who  had  established 


152 


F.  M.  MENDELSSOHN 


[chap. 


himself  in  London,  where  he  soon  obtained  success 
as  a conscientious  and  excellent  music-master,  and 
pursued  his  honourable  calling  for  many  years. 
Thus,  and  again  by  hearing  some  of  Felix’s  com- 
positions at  the  Philharmonic  and  other  concerts,  we 
were  already  enthusiastic  about  him  when  we  heard 
that  he  and  his  father  were  about  to  arrive  in 
London,  and  were  likely  to  remain  for  some  weeks. 
Shortly  after  their  arrival  we  were  advised  by  Mme. 
Moscheles  that  the  Mendelssohns  proposed  calling 
upon  us  on  a certain  afternoon,  upon  which  day  I 
kept  watch  and  ward  on  our  front  door  from  the 
drawing-room  window,  and  at  length  saw  a charm- 
ing-looking couple  arrive  in  the  persons  of  the 
Mendelssohns,  father  and  son,  the  one  a handsome 
elderly  gentleman,  the  other  a bright,  eager-looking 
youth  of  middle  height  and  most  animated  expres- 
sion. No  words  of  mine  could  describe  the  fascina- 
tion of  his  manner,  in  which  simplicity  was  the 
leading  feature,  and  from  that  moment  I may  truly 
say  he  and  I were  sworn  friends,  though  he  was 
nineteen  years  old  and  I a boy  of  ten.  He  very 
soon  established  himself  as  one  of  our  family,  my 
parents  accepting  him  as  an  extra  and  dear  son. 


p.  {MM  (>  f'; 


jimiiJ:-.'  - • • ••'friM.fr'  (»'.(>’  i'  'i  ££$$$& 


^ r* 


X] 


MEMORIES  OF  HIM 


iS3 


My  memories  of  Mendelssohn  are  of  necessity 
fragmentary,  and  have  but  little  connection  with 
positive  dates,  never  having  been  recorded  at  the 
time,  but  they  seem  to  come  forth  spontaneously  as 
I write.  His  visits  here  were  to  me  as  wonderful 
as  always  excursions  into  dream  or  fairyland.  He 
was  always  surrounded  by  troops  of  friends  and 
admirers,  and  had  masses  of  daily  correspondence 
to  deal  with,  especially  social  invitations,  so  difficult 
for  him  to  arrange  with  his  highly  strung  and  sensi- 
tive nature,  which  dreaded  giving  offence  in  the 
slightest  degree  to  those  so  anxious  to  show  their 
admiration  for  him.  My  dear  mother  was,  I may 
say,  in  worldly  matters,  his  “refuge  and  strength,” 
to  whom  he  poured  out  all  his  social  anxieties, 
while  my  father  also  was  completely  under  the 
“ F.  M.”  spell.  It  was  for  me  an  ever-fresh  delight 
to  see  and  hear  the  old  and  young  musician  going 
through  their  respective  compositions,  seated  at  an 
old  square  Broadwood  pianoforte,  long  since  pre- 
sented to  that  illustrious  house,  to  add  to  the 
museum  they  have  formed  of  their  relics  of  the 
former  successes  in  piano  manufacture,  still  vigor- 
ously maintained. 


154 


EXTEMPORE  PLAYING 


[chap. 


These  half-hours  were  solemn  moments  for  me, 
for  they  were  so  full  of  strains  of  “lengthened 
sweetness  long  drawn  out,”  and  played  at  eventide 
of  spring  and  summer  time,  the  charm  was  in- 
describable. 

There  is  one  form  of  musical  performance  which 
was  much  in  vogue  in  my  youth,  but  which  I have 
not  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  practised  effectually 
for  many  a long  year.  I allude  to  extempore 
playing.  Listeners  were  invited  by  the  performer 
on  piano,  organ,  or  strings  to  give  some  musical 
theme  of  intelligible  form,  on  which  he  should  work 
his  will  and  proceed  to  elaborate  the  given  theme 
or  themes,  for  I have  often  heard  the  game  played 
with  two  musical  objectives,  with  which  endless 
combinations  of  “ thick-coming  fancies  ” were  origi- 
nated and  developed,  the  whole  linked  together  by 
a return  to  the  original  themes  now  and  again. 

F.  M.  was  a past  master  in  this  art,  and  I 
have  often  seen  the  grand  old  face  of  my  father 
thrilling  with  admiration  as  he  sat  as  close  to  the 
musician  as  he  could,  without  interfering  with  his 
freedom  of  action  at  the  piano,  to  observe  the 
fingering  of  the  keyboard,  a matter  so  interesting 
to  him  as  a teacher. 


X] 


MENDELSSOHN’S  KINDNESS 


155 


Mendelssohn  was  very  sensitive,  especially  as  to 
the  honour  paid  to  his  profession,  and  the  suspicion 
that  he  was  invited  socially  chiefly  for  what  he 
could  bring  with  him  for  the  entertainment  of  his 
hosts  and  their  friends,  led  to  many  unpleasant 
contretemps , when  he  in  somewhat  point-blank 
terms  would  decline  to  play  when  asked  to  do  so. 
Even  my  dear  mother,  for  whom  he  would  have 
done  anything,  preferred  telling  me  to  ask  him  if 
he  would  mind  playing,  especially  if  we  had  any 
friends  with  us  to  whom  he  was  personally  un- 
known. “Mind,  my  dear  boy,”  was  the  reply, 
“ I’ll  play  to  you  and  to  all  in  this  old  house  as  long 
as  you  will  listen.”  Happening  to  come  to  Eng- 
land at  a time  when  we  were  in  deep  anxiety  about 
a dear  relative,  to  whom  he  was  much  attached,  he 
devoted  many  of  his  much-engaged  hours  to  playing 
to  her,  and  before  he  returned  to  Germany  he  wrote 
in  pencil  inside  her  piano  words  to  this  effect — 

Felix  Mendelssohn  Bartholdy 
played  to 

Mrs.  T. on  this  piano  on . 

and  later  on,  a second  inscription  was  made — 

The  same  fellow  has  also  played  in  January , 1847. 


156 


MOSCHELES 


[chap. 


Returning  the  following  season,  he  found  his  friend 
still  living,  and  repeated  the  kind  offices  of  soothing 
her  afflicted  hours. 

After  her  death  that  piano  came  into  my  posses- 
sion. As  it  needed  some  small  repairs,  I sent  for 
the  man  who  was  to  attend  to  it,  to  adjure  him  that 
in  doing  what  was  required  he  should  not  go  near 
the  inscription,  round  which  I had  drawn  a line  of 
white  oil  paint.  He  gave  his  word  that  it  should 
not  be  touched,  took  the  piano  home,  and  handed  it 
over  to  a workman  to  clean  without  a word  of 
warning,  and  the  treasure  so  valued  came  back 
worthless  to  me. 

To  return  to  the  extemporising.  On  one  memo- 
rable occasion  Mendelssohn  and  Moscheles  were 
both  here,  and  it  was  suggested  that  they  should 
extemporise  together.  It  must  be  noted  that 
Moscheles  was  extremely  fussy  about  the  height 
of  his  music-stool,  and  he  took  up  much  time 
in  adjusting  it  exactly  to  his  taste,  adding  and 
subtracting  books  of  varying  thicknesses  with 
great  elaboration.  This  proceeding  partly  amused 
and  partly  teased  Felix,  and  by  the  twinkle  in  his 
eye  I saw  that  the  spirit  of  fun,  which  was  ever 


X] 


AN  IMPROMPTU 


157 


present  with  him,  was  prompting  him  to  some 
mischief.  He  jocosely  reprimanded  Moscheles  for 
trying  to  steal  a march  upon  him,  and  then  started 
an  admirable  imitation  of  his  friends  procedure, 
and  finally  convulsed  those  present  by  imitating 
in  dumbshow  his  dissatisfaction  with  the  height  of 
his  seat  and  his  inability  to  see  anything  that 

would  make  it  exactly  right;  then  suddenly  tapping 
his  forehead,  he  darted  to  a writing-table  at  hand, 
opened  the  paper  case,  and  choosing  the  smallest 
sheet  he  could  find,  held  it  up  for  us  all  to  see,  and 
solemnly  proceeded  to  the  book-laden  stool  and  laid 
it  carefully  down,  and  executed  a pas  de  fascination 
a la  Taglioni  round  it  and  smoothing  it  out,  ex- 
pressing thus  his  delight  in  the  result  of  his 

labour.  He  jumped  upon  his  throne,  then 

beckoned  to  Moscheles  to  take  his  seat,  and 

dashed  into  an  impromptu  fantasia  of  the  most 
joyous  and  delightful  kind  imaginable.  The 
playing  of  the  two  performers  on  this  occasion 
was  really  a marvel  of  ingenuity  and  musical  skill 
and  inspiration. 

On  another  occasion  Moscheles  as  senior  began 
to  extemporise,  and  was  so  lengthy  that  we  were  all 


158 


F.  M.’S  JOYOUS  NATURE 


[CHAP. 


impatiently  longing  for  Mendelssohn  to  be  able  to 
strike  in  with  his  impromptu  solo.  He  sustained 
his  secondary  part  with  most  admirable  skill  and 
patience,  but  at  last  the  latter  became  a little  ex- 
hausted, and  I vividly  remember  the  amusing 
byplay  of  dumbshow,  as  with  folded  hands  and 
pathetic  gestures  of  deepest  entreaty  he  implored 
his  colleague  to  give  him  his  turn ! 

In  extempore  playing  he  often  appeared  to  crouch 
over  the  keys,  bringing  his  head  almost  level  with 
his  fingers,  and  at  times  an  amused  smile  illuminated 
his  face,  as  if  expressing  satisfaction  with  what  his 
fingers  brought  forth,  and  this  was  now  and  then 
accompanied  by  a slight  nasal  snort  of  excitement. 
His  smile  and  his  musical  laugh  no  one  who  had 
the  privilege  of  his  acquaintance  can  forget.  He 
had,  in  fact,  an  essentially  joyous  nature,  and  I 
venture  to  assert  that  this  is  abundantly  evident  in 
his  musical  compositions.  I know  of  no  music  so 
redolent  of  happiness,  and  per  contra  of  none  that 
can  be  so  truly  pathetic  but  not  dismal.  Not  a bar 
of  dismal  music  is  to  be  found  in  the  whole  range 
of  his  work. 

He  had  unquestionably  a true  Christian  spirit, 


X] 


“ST.  PAUL11 — GEORGE  ELIOT 


159 


from  which  emanated  all  those  marvellous  inspira- 
tions of  the  deepest  and  most  fervent  Christian  faith 
in  his  two  great  oratorios  of  St.  Paul  and  Elijah. 
What  a remarkable  tribute  of  intense  admiration 
did  I once  witness  to  the  divine  influence  of  such 
music ! Our  dear  friend  Mrs.  Moscheles,  in  her 
widowhood,  occasionally  had  “musical  afternoons, ” 
to  which  we  had  the  entrSe.  At  one  of  these  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  George  Lewes  (“George  Eliot”)  were 
present.  Henschel,  the  admirable  singer,  was  there, 
and  when  asked  to  sing,  to  my  delight  he  chose 
the  great  scena  from  St.  Paul , the  most  passionate 
appeal  for  mercy  and  forgiveness  of  sin  ever  writ- 
ten, the  music  being  as  thrilling  as  the  holy  words. 
Henschel  is  not  only  a great  singer,  but  a good 
all-round  musician,  and  the  great  advantage  of  his 
being,  on  this  occasion,  his  own  accompanist  was 
intensely  appreciated  by  the  audience,  as  well  as 
the  noteworthy  taste  and  expression  with  which  he 
sang,  and  by  none  more  than  by  the  couple  I have 
named.  They  evidently  were  acquainted  with  the 
noble  composition.  When  Henschel  began  they 
were  seated  at  some  distance  from  the  piano.  After 
the  introduction,  so  full  of  pathetic  harmony,  they 


i6o  MENDELSSOHN  AT  ST.  PAUL’S  [chap. 


rose  from  their  seats,  and  in  the  gentlest  fashion — 
I might  add  with  the  humblest  step — they  moved 
across  the  room  and  stood  at  Henschel’s  left  hand, 
not  more  than  a foot  away  from  the  piano,  Lewes 
a little  to  the  rear.  I could  observe  them  to  the 
end  without  being  seen  myself,  and  they  never 
changed  their  attitude  of  riveted  attention,  and 
quietly  left  the  room  the  moment  the  music  was 
over. 

During  one  of  Felix’s  visits  to  London  he 
played  after  the  afternoon  service  at  St.  Paul’s 
to  us  chiefly,  for  the  congregation,  always  small 
in  those  days,  had  melted  away,  not  knowing  what 
was  coming. 

It  was  a superb  musical  exhibition,  and  not  only 
that,  but  a marvellous  athletic  performance,  for  his 
slight  form  of  middle  size  was  put  to  a tremendous 
muscular  exertion  in  managing  the  pedals  and  stops 
of  that  immense  organ.  I made  a memory  sketch 
of  his  foreshortened  body,  as  with  head  now  and 
then  bent  out  of  sight,  his  eloquent  back  indicated 
the  depth  of  feeling  which  was  always  so  great  a 
factor  in  his  playing. 

During  F.  M.’s  visits  to  London  he  used  to  lodge 


X] 


BREAKFAST  WITH  F.  M. 


161 


in  Great  Portland  Street,  where  I often  breakfasted 
with  him,  to  my  supreme  delight.  For  the  nature 
of  the  breakfast  he  was  entirely  at  the  mercy  of  his 
landlady,  a good  and  honest  woman,  but  she  was 
somewhat  monotonous  in  the  treatment  of  the  menu, 
of  which  the  chief  item  was  invariably  fat  mutton 
chops.  Eaten  in  such  company  as  F.  M.’s,  however, 
they  were  food  for  the  gods. 

After  breakfast  F.  M.  would  sit  down  to  his  piano 
and  very  often  drift  into  rehearsals  of  what  he  might 
be  going  to  play  in  the  evening.  Then  we  would 
stroll  out,  when  nothing  pleased  him  better  than  to 
go  into  neighbourhoods  where  there  were  traces  of 
old  London.  On  one  such  occasion,  during  his 
second  or  third  visit,  we  were  on  our  way  to  the 
Brunels,  who  lived  then  in  a most  interesting  old 
house  in  Duke  Street,  Westminster,  the  former 
town  house  of  the  Earls  of  Devon,  when  a slight 
incident  gave  rise  to  an  expression  of  his  feeling  I 
am  never  likely  to  forget.  I may  say  that  I had  one 
quality  of  ingenuous  youth  in  a very  marked  degree, 
viz.  that  of  being  an  inordinate  blusher,  and  this  on 
the  smallest  provocation.  This  was  so  marked  as 
to  become  a fearful  trial  to  me,  and  I suffered  much 


M 


WALK  WITH  F.  M. 


[chap. 


162 

from  its  annoying  influence  till  I was  out  of  my 
teens.  On  this  walk  we  took  a short  cut,  for 
F.  M.  was  rather  proud  of  his  facility  in  finding  his 
way  about  London,  and  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
place  where  once  stately  houses  were  now  reduced 
to  be  dwelling-places  of  more  than  doubtful  inhabit- 
ants, who,  at  the  moment  we  were  passing,  were 
represented  by  some  half-dozen  of  young  women  of 
flaunting  aspect  apparently  engaged  in  work  of 
sorts,  accompanied  by  loud  laughter  and  ribald 
talk,  with  which  they  assailed  us,  becoming  more 
and  more  offensive  on  seeing  that  we  made  no 
reply,  but  hastened  our  pace  onwards.  We 
were  walking  arm-in-arm,  which  was  the  common 
practice  in  those  times,  a comfortable  posture  for 
friends  to  assume,  but  which,  curious  to  note,  one 
scarcely  ever  sees  adopted  in  these  days,  even 
by  married  folk.  Independence  is  aimed  at  in 
all  the  relations  of  life.  What  I felt  I cannot 
pretend  to  express,  but  I had  the  inward  conviction 
that  I was  blushing  to  the  roots  of  my  hair.  As 
my  dear  friend  turned  to  look  at  me  he  saw  what 
must  have  filled  my  mind  at  the  moment,  and  said, 
with  solemn  earnestness  and  almost  in  a whisper, 


X] 


A VOLUNTARY  AT  ST.  JOHN'S  163 


pressing  my  arm,  in  which  his  own  was  locked 
“ God  grant,  my  dear  boy,  that  you  may  ever  feel  as 
you  are  now  doing.”  Then  we  hurried  away  from 
the  polluted  atmosphere,  and  he  never  referred 
again  by  a single  word  to  the  incident;  but  it  is  one 
of  those  memories  which  will  be  for  me  “ ever  green,” 
and  upon  which  I may  humbly  and  thankfully  say 
God’s  blessing  rested. 

One  Sunday  morning,  Mendelssohn  being  now 
intimately  acquainted  with  our  friends  the  Hawes, 
we  had  agreed  to  breakfast  with  them,  and  that  he 
should  play  one  of  the  voluntaries  at  St  John’s, 
Waterloo  Bridge  Road.  In  those  days  there  was 
much  more  solo  organ-playing  than  is  now  the 
fashion,  an  extra  voluntary  often  being  introduced 
into  the  service,  usually  of  a soft  and  meditative 
description. 

The  talk  at  breakfast  was  long  and  animated. 
At  length  our  hostess  stirred  us  up  to  get  us  off  to 
church,  where  we  arrived  in  great  force  after  the 
service  had  begun.  We  were  taken  straight  to  the 
organ-loft,  where  the  sight  of  the  gaping  congrega- 
tion and  the  drawn  curtains,  exposing  him  and  us 
to  the  public  gaze,  ruffled  the  usually  seraphic 


164 


SUNDAYS  AT  HIGH  ROW 


[chap. 


temper  of  Mendelssohn,  and  “ slewing  ” himself 
across  the  organ-bench,  after  a few  preliminary 
words  with  the  organist,  he  dashed  into  an  ex- 
tempore of  the  most  startlingly  magnificent  kind, 
thundering  forth  in  music  his  perturbed  spirit. 
Finally  quieting  down,  he  played  the  introduction 
of  one  of  Bachs  most  superb  fugues,  at  the  close 
of  which  he  darted  up  from  his  seat,  seized  his  hat, 
which  he  jammed  down  on  his  head,  and  made  his 
escape,  evidently  much  annoyed.  I remember  well 
my  own  sense  of  discomfort,  but  wisely,  I believe, 
I took  refuge  in  complete  silence,  and  comfort  in 
the  fact  that  the  masterly  performance  had  given 
the  greatest  delight  to  the  congregation  ; though 
they  were  evidently  at  a loss  to  conjecture  how 
anything  so  different  from  their  usual  musical 
service  had  come  to  pass. 

Here  I may  state  that  nothing  seemed  to  give 
F.  M.  more  pleasure  than  these  quiet  visits  to  church 
organ-lofts,  after  which  he  would  come  back  to  the 
midday  meal  at  High  Row.  Then  would  follow 
long  strolls  in  Kensington  Gardens  and  Hyde 
Park,  and  a return  to  some  simple  refection,  and 
an  hour  or  two  of  “songs  without  words”  in  the 


X] 


THE  “ELIJAH” 


165 


evening.  Dear  good  Carl  Klingemann  was  also 
constantly  with  us,  and  he  perhaps  would  lead 
round  the  conversation  to  the  recent  compositions 
of  F.  M.,  who  would  turn  to  the  piano  to  illustrate 
the  works  he  was  then  engaged  on.  One  day,  after 
the  wonderful  success  of  the  oratorio  of  St.  Paul , 
F.  M.,  C.  K.,  my  sisters,  and  I were  walking  back 
from  an  organ  performance  at  St.  James’s,  Piccadilly, 
when  it  occurred  to  me  to  ask  him  whether  he  had 
any  important  work  in  contemplation  to  sustain  the 
enthusiasm  called  forth  by  St.  Paid. 

We  were  walking  as  was  our  wont,  slightly  ahead 
of  the  others  at  the  time ; he  was  silent  at  first,  and 
then  with  some  hesitation  he  said,  in  a low  voice, 
“ Well,  my  dear  boy,  you  are  the  first  person  to 
whom  I have  said  a word  on  the  subject,  though 
I have  had  it  on  my  mind  for  months  past,  and 
think  and  dream  of  nothing  else.  Yes,  I have 
chosen  the  splendid  Bible  story  of  Elijah  for  my 
next  theme,  and  if  I can  only  bring  the  magnificent 
text  home  to  the  hearts  of  my  hearers  with  any- 
thing like  the  force  that  it  appeals  to  me,  I shall 
do  much  to  place  my  second  oratorio  on  possibly 
a higher  level  in  public  opinion  than  the  first.” 


JOACHIM’S  DEBUT 


[chap. 


i 66 

These  few  words  have  always  dwelt  in  my 
memory. 

In  those  days  we  had  the  entrde  to  the  rehearsals 
of  the  Philharmonic  Society,  which  took  place  at 
the  dear  old  Hanover  Square  Rooms,  now  no  more. 
F.  M.  came  over  for  the  season  and  conducted  the 
concerts,  and,  through  his  recommendation,  Joachim, 
as  a boy  of  twelve,  came  to  play  for  the  first  time 
in  England.  I saw  this  gifted  genius  and  delightful 
man  and  friend  enter  the  orchestra  in  a boys  jacket 
and  turn-down  collar,  and  play  Beethoven’s  great 
Concerto  for  the  violin  without  a single  note  of 
music  before  him. 

Mendelssohn’s  control  over  orchestras  was  per- 
fectly marvellous,  and  was  entirely  caused  by  the 
kindly,  good-tempered  way  in  which  he  made  his 
criticisms,  and  the  absolute  confidence  in  him  as 
a leader  with  which  he  inspired  the  performers.  I 
have  seen  him  stop  the  band  with  one  touch  on  his 
desk,  then  rush  up  the  orchestra  like  a cat,  and  then 
you  would  see  him  patiently  and  quietly  pointing 
out  to  the  offender  where,  instead  of  playing  A flat, 
he  had  played  A sharp. 

Mendelssohn  had  the  keenest  sense  of  humour, 


■ 


X] 


F.  M.  AS  AN  ARTIST 


167 


and  delighted  in  PuncKs  display  of  it,  especially 
when  it  was  enriched  with  the  drawings  of  John 
Leech  and  Charles  Keen.  He  himself  drew  a great 
deal,  most  elaborately  and  industriously  in  pencil, 
subsequently  inked  over,  and  there  exist  quite 
successful  sheets  of  some  caricature  sketches  illus- 
trating his  proceedings  when  travelling.  There  are 
good-sized  sketch-books  of  his  filled  with  such 
work  during  excursions  in  Switzerland  and  else- 
where that  are  very  interesting.  I possess  two 
small  water-colour  drawings  of  houses  in  Leipzig, 
at  one  time  inhabited  by  his  family,  that  are 
quite  charming,  and  show  that  had  he  received 
instruction  at  the  right  time  and  in  the  right  way, 
he  might  have  done  a great  deal  with  the  sister  art. 
Perhaps  all  this  was  as  well,  for  he  was  so  mani- 
festly sent  into  the  world  to  be  a great  musician, 
and  was  so  passionately  devoted  to  the  “greatest” 
of  all  the  arts,  that  we  might  have  lost  much 
of  that  that  he  was  destined  to  do  and  say  had 
he  been  led  away  by  the  fascination  of  the 
great  and  glorious  arts  of  painting,  sculpture,  and 
architecture. 

I have  ventured  to  express  my  opinion  that  music 


1 68  THE  GREATEST  OF  THE  ARTS  [chap,  x 


is  the  greatest  of  all  the  arts.  I may  say  in  all 
humility  I am  convinced  of  this  because  of  its  divine 
immateriality.  It  is  the  ‘‘material”  difficulty  that  for 
ever  vexes  the  soul  of  the  painter.  Is  not  white 
lead  the  only  material  we  have  with  which  to 
express  the  divine  light  of  heaven  ? 


CHAPTER  XI 


Isambard  Kingdom  Brunei — Parentage — Adventure  at  St.  Paul’s — 
As  a Surrey  yeoman — Thames  Tunnel — Party  of  visitors — Clifton 
Suspension  Bridge — Visits  to  Wales — The  “ Flying  Hearse” — 
Swallowing  half  a sovereign — Extract  from  Life : Note  I. — 
Letter  from  I.  K.  B.  to  his  son. 


Y two  dearest  friends  were  in  the  days  of  my 


youth  Felix  Mendelssohn  Bartholdy  and 
Isambard  Kingdom  Brunei.  Intimately  as  I knew 
them  both,  supremely  distinguished  in  their  respec- 
tive callings,  it  is  to  me  a delightful  thought  in  my 
old  age  that  never  had  I even  a moments  “differ- 
ence” with  either  of  them.  I.  K.  B.,  as  he  was 
usually  called  by  those  who  had  the  privilege  of  his 
intimate  acquaintance,  was  the  son  of  the  dis- 
tinguished French  engineer,  Mark  Isambard 
Brunei,  who  had  emigrated  to  England  at  the 
time  of  the  French  Revolution,  and  made  himself 
a great  reputation  as  the  inventor  of  the  block 


169 


170 


I.  K.  B. 


[chap. 


machinery  for  the  British  Admiralty,  and  by 
numerous  brilliant  works.  His  professional  success 
culminated  in  the  Thames  Tunnel,  in  the  building 
of  which  he  was  most  ably  seconded  by  his  only 
son,  Isambard  Kingdom  Brunei.  The  younger 
Isambard,  though  ten  years  my  senior,  became 
most  intimate  with  me,  and  being  a thorough  artist 
by  nature,  he  took  the  deepest  interest  in  the  early 
strivings  of  my  student  days. 

Just  before  I became  personally  acquainted  with 
him  I heard  a remarkable  story  of  one  of  his  physi- 
cal achievements  in  St.  Pauls  Cathedral.  As  he 
was  passing  the  great  church  one  morning,  he 
noticed  that  repairs  were  evidently  going  on  in  one 
of  the  domes  of  the  small  towers,  and  proceeding 
up  to  this  point  by  the  ordinary  staircase,  he  found 
that  the  gang  of  workmen  employed  had  rigged  up 
a rope-and-pulley  arrangement  to  bring  up  the 
materials  required  for  their  work,  instead  of  carry- 
ing them  up  the  existing  staircases.  He  surveyed 
the  whole  apparatus,  and  conceived  the  possibility 
of  descending  hand  over  hand  to  the  pavement  be- 
low, some  two  hundred  feet  or  more  from  the  start- 
ing-point, and  proposed  to  the  workmen  that  he 


XI] 


ADVENTURE  AT  ST.  PAUL’S 


171 


should  make  the  attempt,  none  of  his  hearers  taking 
the  trouble  to  dissuade  him  from  the  rash  act.  It 
must  be  understood  that  he  was  a skilled  athlete, 
and  had  great  personal  courage,  which  he  had  dis- 
played to  the  full  in  the  Thames  Tunnel  work,  of 
which  he  had  been  the  chief  superintendent  under 
his  great  father  since  its  commencement.  He 
calmly  seized  the  right  rope  and  started,  going 
steadily  down  hand  over  hand;  but  he  had  not  gone 
more  than  ten  to  fifteen  feet  when  the  sensation  in 
his  hands,  produced  by  the  unusual  muscular  strain 
for  which  he  had  had  no  previous  training,  con- 
vinced him  that  the  numbing  of  his  muscular  power 
would  wholly  prevent  his  completing  his  climb 
down,  and  to  save  his  life  he  must  climb  up  again, 
which  he  did  with  no  apparent  effort  and  without 
the  slightest  failure  of  nerve  power.  What  a severe 
trial  this  was  may  be  imagined,  as  he  clung  for  a 
few  seconds  suspended  over  that  awful  deep  under 
the  dome  of  the  western  tower  of  St.  Paul’s. 

At  this  time,  though  absorbed  by  work  and  pro- 
fessional engagements  of  all  kinds,  he  consented  to 
join  a troop  of  Surrey  Yeomanry.  He  had  had  for 
some  years  a rat-tailed  Irish  horse,  who  objected  at 


I.  K.  B.  AS  A YEOMAN 


[chap. 


172 

all  times  to  the  details  of  his  regimental  saddlery, 
and  on  one  occasion,  when  riding  along  the  West- 
minster Bridge  Road  to  the  drill-ground  on  Ken- 
nington  Common,  the  animal  lost  his  temper  alto- 
gether, stood  stock-still,  and  on  being  sharply 
spurred,  commenced  a kicking  performance  so 
violent  as  to  threaten  the  upsetting  of  his  rider. 
I.  K.  B.,  with  his  accustomed  deliberateness,  shook 
his  feet  out  of  the  stirrups,  grasped  with  one  hand 
the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  and  vaulted  over  the  nag’s 
head,  alighting  safely  in  the  road,  with  his  reins  and 
sabre  in  his  disengaged  hand.  He  quickly  regained 
his  saddle,  and  then  the  whole  performance  was 
encored!  But  I.  K.  B.  did  not  lose  his  absolute 
calm  and  presence  of  mind,  and  quietly  led  old 
“ rat-tail  ” back  to  his  stable. 

When  the  great  irruption  of  the  Thames  into  the 
tunnel  took  place,  the  water  filled  both  the  tunnels 
and  the  connecting  shafts.  During  the  period  of 
pumping  out  which  ensued  the  staff  of  the  engineers 
were  constantly  examining  the  walls  of  the  tunnel, 
keeping  watch  on  any  increase  in  the  surface  frac- 
tures, and  many  were  the  applications  from  sight- 
seers for  permission  to  accompany  them  ; but  con- 


XI] 


THE  THAMES  TUNNEL 


73 


sent  could  not  be  given,  for  there  was  constant 
danger  in  the  operation,  as  any  sudden  rise  in  the 
water  might  have  caused  a catastrophe  of  a terrible 
nature.  On  one  occasion  several  distinguished 
French  gentlemen,  one  of  whom  was  a member  of 
the  Bonaparte  family,  came  with  very  special  letters 
of  introduction,  and  induced  the  authorities  to  give 
them  the  permission  they  desired. 

Brunei  addressed  the  party  before  they  started  to 
the  effect  that  they  must  first  assure  him  of  their 
being  good  and  powerful  swimmers,  the  great 
danger  being  of  any  sudden  accession  of  water 
overcoming  the  pumping  strength  necessary  to  keep 
it  down  to  the  right  level.  The  party  were  loud  in 
asserting  their  swimming  powers  to  be  quite  abnor- 
mal, and  their  readiness  to  do  exactly  as  they  were 
told.  So  they  were  warned  in  good  French,  and 
with  strong  injunctions,  that  if  they  saw  I.  K.  B. 
take  a header  from  the  punt  in  which  they  had 
embarked,  they  were  to  do  the  same,  and  to  swim 
back  to  the  point  of  embarkation.  They  had 
barely  started,  and  he  was  standing  up  to  point  out 
the  nature  of  the  masonry,  when  one  of  the  men 
wanting  to  pass  him  in  punting,  slipped,  and  struck 


174  CLIFTON  SUSPENSION  BRIDGE  [cHap. 


Brunei  so  violently  that  he  lost  his  balance  and  fell 
over  the  side  of  the  punt  into  very  deep  water.  It 
at  once  occurred  to  him  to  dive  under  the  boat  and 
come  up  under  the  stern  to  see  if  his  fellow-passen- 
gers were  keeping  their  word  and  swimming  to  a 
place  of  safety,  for  the  accident  had  the  complete 
effect  of  the  arranged  performance,  but  when  he 
came  up  to  the  side  of  the  boat,  no  one  had  moved  ; 
they  were  all  sitting  with  expressions  of  varying 
horror  and  evident  anticipation  of  sudden  death  on 
their  faces. 

The  effect  of  their  failure  to  keep  their  word,  for 
they  had  no  idea  that  Brunei’s  dive  was  not  pre- 
meditated, was  that  no  visitors  were  ever  allowed  to 
inspect  the  works  again. 

Another  instance  I may  relate  of  his  extra- 
ordinary calmness  and  presence  of  mind  happened 
in  the  early  days  of  the  projected  making  of  the 
great  suspension  bridge  at  Clifton. 

That,  of  course,  involved  a constant  passing  of 
workmen  from  one  side  of  the  gorge  to  the  other, 
from  the  Hot  Wells  to  the  Leigh  Woods.  Needless 
to  say,  there  was  no  end  to  the  loss  of  time  by  the 
workpeople,  who  took  all  opportunities  of  lingering 


XI] 


BRUNEITS  BASKET 


75 


in  public-houses  and  other  resorts.  At  last  he  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  carrying  an  iron  chain  across  the 
space  and  a small  basket  working  upon  wheels, 
which  by  aid  of  windlass  and  rope  would  be  able  to 
convey  two  people  to  and  fro.  This  proved  to  be 
a most  successful  idea,  and  was  admirably  carried 
out,  and  during  the  annual  meeting  of  the  British 
Association,  then  taking  place  at  Bristol,  it  was 
arranged  that  there  should  be  a regular  performance 
for  the  edification  of  this  assemblage  of  distinguished 
people,  and  there  were  many  requests  to  be  allowed 
to  go  in  what  was  imagined  to  be  a suspended  car. 
This  car  was  really  not  much  bigger  than  many 
an  extra-sized  baker’s  basket,  and  as  it  would  hold 
two  persons  of  moderate  dimensions,  and  no  more, 
nothing  would  have  induced  Brunei  to  take  anyone 
but  a member  of  his  own  staff. 

The  experiment  worked  as  usual ; the  basket 
went  with  a rush  down  the  swaying  iron  chain  to 
the  middle,  when  suddenly  a rope  went  wrong,  and 
with  an  excited  crowd  watching  him,  I.  K.  B. 
swung  himself  on  to  the  edge  of  the  basket, 
stooped  over  and  released  the  rope,  after  which 
they  were  drawn  up  safely  to  the  other  side. 


176 


A BAD  CROSSING 


[CHAP. 


A little  later  I went  across  with  an  assistant,  and 
well  remember  my  sensations  during  the  transit. 
Brunei  was  looking  on,  and  exclaimed  with  a laugh, 
“Be  careful,  John;  you  know  it  must  come  down 
some  day  ” ; but  I had  a good  head  in  those  days, 
and  was  not  perturbed  by  this  cheering  remark,  and 
I thoroughly  enjoyed  the  beautiful  panoramic  views 
up  and  down  the  river.  A great  three-master  pass- 
ing up  looked  like  a child’s  toy  beneath  me,  and  as 
I was  slowly  drawn  up  on  the  other  side,  I looked 
down  upon  the  great  trees,  where  rooks  were 
cawing  and  repairing  their  nests. 

Later  on  it  became  the  fashion  to  take  people 
across  for  the  benefit  of  the  men  at  the  wheel. 
One  day  a gentleman  and  lady  started,  and  the 
operator  on  the  Clifton  side  soon  observed,  to 
his  horror,  that  the  lady  had  disappeared,  and 
the  gentleman  was  waving  and  gesticulating  furi- 
ously. He  worked  his  wheel  with  all  his  might, 
and  presently  the  basket  arrived  with  the  lady,  in  a 
condition  of  utter  collapse,  in  the  bottom.  She  was 
lifted  out  and  carried  into  a little  chalet,  which 
I.  K.  B.  had  built  to  keep  his  plans  in,  and  for 
want  of  better  accommodation  she  was  laid  on  a 


XI] 


VISITS  TO  WALES 


77 


big  drawing-board!  The  gentleman,  a Frenchman, 
watching  her  in  the  greatest  excitement  as  she 
began  to  come  to,  was  so  overcome  with  emotion 
that  he  staggered  back  and  went  into  a dead  faint ; 
so  he,  too,  had  to  be  laid  out  on  a second  drawing- 
board,  making  the  chalet  temporarily  appear  almost 
like  a mortuary. 

However,  they  soon  both  recovered,  and  were 
none  the  worse  for  their  adventure.  They  were 
married  the  next  week.  They  were  the  last 
visitors  ever  brought  across  in  this  fashion. 

In  connection  with  the  erection  of  the  Clifton 
Suspension  Bridge,  Brunei  entrusted  me  with  a 
very  important  commission. 

As  originally  designed  it  was  to  have  cast-iron 
towers,  purely  Egyptian  in  form,  and  decorated  on 
the  panels  into  which  the  faces  were  divided  with 
incised  figure  designs,  illustrating  all  the  processes 
necessary  in  the  production  of  the  various  portions 
of  the  bridge.  He  had  himself  made  spirited  out- 
line sketches  in  pen  and  ink  of  a few  of  the  leading 
subjects.  In  order  to  become  acquainted  with  the 
processes  to  be  illustrated,  I often  accompanied 
I.  K.  B.  on  his  journeys  to  the  South  Wales  iron 


N 


178 


THE  FLYING  HEARSE 


[chap. 


districts,  where  he  was  actively  engaged  in  making 
the  railway  from  Cardiff  to  Merthyr  Tydvil.  The 
vast  work  of  the  Great  Western  Railway  with  its 
network  of  branches  loomed  high  upon  the  horizon 
of  his  manifold  labours,  and  the  power  for  work 
that  he  showed  at  this  time  was  almost  incredible. 
I was  with  him  in  many  of  these  Welsh  journeys, 
which  he  made  in  a large  britzska , known  to  the 
post-boys  as  the  “ Flying  Hearse  ” from  its  unusual 
dimensions,  and  the  speed  with  which  it  was  whirled 
along  night  and  day  by  four  horses.  He  was  a per- 
fect travelling  companion,  save  for  one  most  trying 
habit  with  which  nature  had  endowed  him  beyond 
that  of  any  other  human  being  with  whom  I ever 
foregathered  in  sleeping  hours.  His  potency  in 
snoring  was  “prodigious,”  as  Dominie  Sampson 
would  have  said,  and  in  our  night-long  travellings 
I have  had  to  shake  and  pommel  him  to  that 
extent  that  I constantly  anticipated  his  turning  and 
rending  me  in  his  sleep  as  an  actual  assailant. 

On  one  occasion  he  was  completing  the  survey 
for  the  Taff  Vale  Railway,  of  which  the  plans  were 
to  be  sent  to  the  headquarters  of  the  Railway 
Company  at  Cardiff  by  the  30th  of  November. 


XI] 


VISIT  TO  ITALY 


179 


For  a fortnight  Brunei  travelled  about  day  and 
night  without  once  going  to  bed,  getting  all  the 
sleep  he  had  in  the  Flying  Hearse.  I was  quartered 
with  friends  a few  miles  off,  and  used  to  ride  in 
daily  on  a Welsh  pony  to  get  my  orders. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  fortnight,  when  I rode  in 
early,  I heard  that  the  plans  had  been  delivered  at 
3 a.m.,  and  that  Mr.  Brunei  had  then  gone  to  bed. 
After  a time  I entered  the  room  with  great  caution, 
and  found  him  in  a deep  sleep.  He  was  in  the 
habit  of  smoking  a cigar  the  last  thing  at  night,  and 
one  was  lying  across  his  chin,  one  end  in  his  mouth, 
the  other  showing  signs  that  it  had  been  lighted, 
though  not  a solitary  puff  had  been  smoked,  he 
having  evidently  sunk  into  the  sleep  of  the  just  the 
moment  his  head  had  touched  the  pillow.  He 
woke  naturally  after  exactly  twenty-four  hours  of 
profound  repose,  and  we  started  for  London. 

I.  K.  B.  and  I had  many  delightful  journeys  to- 
gether, and  I may  perhaps  make  use,  in  describing 
one  of  them,  of  a letter  I wrote  to  his  son  when  he 
was  writing  his  fathers  life. 

“We  left  London  for  Italy  one  evening  in  April, 
1842.  During  our  journey  we  passed  several 


i So 


OUR  POST-BOYS 


[chap. 


consecutive  days  and  nights  in  the  carriage  ; and  I 
am  sure  that  there  was  not  one  of  our  waking 
hours  in  which  some  incident  of  interest  did  not 
occur. 

“ I remember  your  father  agreeing  with  me  that 
our  experiences  merely  of  post-boys  and  their 
various  characteristics  would  be  worthy  of  recording 
in  detail — from  Newman’s  twTo  smart  lads,  who  took 
us  the  first  stage  out  of  London,  on  to  the  genuine 
‘ postillion  ’ (boots  and  all)  we  found  at  Calais  ; then 
to  the  wild  young  brigands  (in  appearance)  who, 
inspired  by  the  prospect  of  extra  buon  mano , 
whirled  us  along  the  road  from  Civita  Vecchia 
towards  Rome ; and  winding  up  with  the  stolid 
German  who  rose  slowly  in  his  stirrups  and 
distracted  us  by  a melancholy  performance  on  the 
horn  slung  round  him,  which  no  entreaty  would 
induce  him  to  give  up.  We  posted  from  Calais,  via 
Paris,  to  Chalons-sur-Saone,  marvelling  the  whole 
way  whereabouts  La  Belle  France  was  to  be 
found  ; for  a drearier  and  more  utterly  monotonous 
ride  of  something  like  eight  hundred  miles  it  is 
impossible  to  conceive. 

“ From  Chalons  we  went  down  the  river  to 
Lyons,  then  onwards,  visiting  Nismes,  and  through 
Arles  to  Toulon. 

“FVom  Toulon  we  went  through  Cannes  and 


XI] 


THE  ETERNAL  CITY 


1 8 1 


Nice,  and  along  the  lovely  Cornice  road  to  Genoa. 
Your  father  was  intensely  delighted  with  this 
portion  of  the  journey.  Those  wonderfully  pic- 
turesque towns,  with  their  rococo  churches  looking 
like  toys,  and  painted  all  over  upon  the  principle 
of  colour  generally  developed  in  that  species  of 
art,  especially  interested  him.  The  streets  were 
so  narrow  that  it  was  sometimes  doubtful  whether 
the  carriage  could  be  squeezed  through,  and  more 
than  once  it  grazed  the  houses  on  either  side  as 
it  passed  on.  Your  father  suggested  the  delightful 
idea  that  these  towns  may  have  been  built  en  bloc , 
and  the  streets  sliced  out  afterwards. 

“ The  work  for  which  your  father  had  come  to 
Italy  commenced  at  Genoa,  and  he  was  met  there 
by  a staff  appointed  by  the  Government  to  accom- 
pany him  during  his  stay.  While  at  Genoa  he 
came  to  me  one  morning  and  said,  that  in  con- 
sequence of  some  delay,  he  had  a week  in  which  to 
make  complete  holiday,  and  gave  me  the  choice  of 
Florence  or  Rome.  I need  scarcely  say  that  I 
chose  Rome,  and  for  three  days  we  were  in  the 
Eternal  City,  seeing  more  in  that  time  than  those 
to  whom  we  related  our  proceedings  could  believe. 
Two  art  student  friends  of  mine,  Solomon  Hart, 
r.a.,  painter,  and  Frederick  Thrupp,  sculptor,  were 
in  Rome  at  the  time,  and  most  kindly  devoted 


182 


ITALIAN  JOURNEY 


[chap. 


themselves  to  our  service  as  ciceroni,  and  spared 
us  much  loss  of  time. 

“ How  well  do  I remember  our  entering  Rome 
by  the  gate  on  the  Civita  Vecchia  road,  and  standing 
up  in  the  carriage  to  get  our  first  view  of  St.  Peter’s, 
and,  having  seen  it,  the  blank  look  of  disappoint- 
ment we  turned  on  each  other  at  the  sight!  But 
the  interior  of  the  great  church  as  far  exceeded  our 
expectations  as  the  exterior  had  fallen  short  of  them. 

“We  were  back  at  Genoa  to  the  minute  your 
father  had  appointed,  and  the  work  being  completed 
there,  we  went  on  to  Turin.  Here  we  were  in  time 
to  be  present  at  the  Court  balls  and  ceremonies 
consequent  upon  the  marriage  of  the  eldest  son  of 
Carlo  Alberto,  the  King. 

“ From  Turin  we  proceeded  to  Milan.  At  Milan 
your  father  parted  from  his  staff,  and  completed  the 
work  he  had  undertaken  as  far  as  it  was  necessary 
to  do  so  in  Italy.  From  Italy,  therefore,  our 
journey  home  was  one  of  uninterrputed  enjoyment 
through  those  glorious  Lombard  towns  to  Venice, 
which  happily  we  reached  in  a gondola  from  Mestre, 
and  not  by  a railway  viaduct ; then  through  the 
Tyrol  to  Munich,  and  so  down  the  Rhine  to  Belgium, 
reaching  home  from  Antwerp.” 

Within  less  than  a year  of  Mr.  Brunei’s  return 
from  his  visit  to  Italy  a strange  accident  happened 


xij  SWALLOWING  A HALF-SOVEREIGN  183 


to  him,  which  placed  his  life  in  great  jeopardy. 
On  April  3rd,  1843,  he  was  amusing  some  children 
at  his  home  by  the  exhibition  of  conjuring  tricks, 
when,  in  pretending  to  pass  a half-sovereign  from 
his  ear  to  his  mouth,  the  coin  he  had  placed  in  his 
mouth  slipped  down  his  throat.  After  a few  days 
he  began  to  suffer  from  a troublesome  cough,  and 
on  April  1 8th  Sir  Benjamin  Brodie  was  consulted. 

The  nature  of  the  accident  and  the  course  of 
treatment  adopted  are  described  in  the  following 
letter  from  Mr.  Brunei’s  brother-in-law,  Dr.  Seth 
Thompson,  which  was  published  in  the  Times 
newspaper  of  May  16th,  1843  : — 

“ I shall  be  much  obliged  by  your  giving  inser- 
tion to  the  following  treatment  pursued  by  Sir 
Benjamin  Brodie  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Brunei,  it  being 
the  wish  of  Mr.  Brunei  and  his  friends  that  the  true 
facts  should  be  known,  as  a just  tribute  to  the  skill 
of  this  eminent  surgeon,  and  as  a guide  to  future 
practice.  The  accident  happened  on  April  3rd  ; Sir 
B.  Brodie  was  consulted  on  the  1 8th,  and  his 
opinion  was  that  the  half-sovereign  had  passed  into 
the  windpipe.  The  following  day  Mr.  Brunei 
strengthened  this  opinion  by  a simple  experiment. 
He  bent  his  head  and  shoulders  over  a chair,  and 


184 


TRACHEOTOMY 


[chap. 


distinctly  felt  the  coin  drop  towards  the  glottis,  and 
whilst  raising  himself  a violent  fit  of  coughing  came 
on,  which  ceased  after  a few  minutes.  He  repeated 
this  a second  time,  with  the  same  results.  A consulta- 
tion was  held  on  the  22nd,  at  which  it  was  decided 
that  conclusive  evidence  existed  of  the  half-sovereign 
having  passed  into  the  windpipe,  that  it  was  prob- 
ably lodged  at  the  bottom  of  the  right  bronchus, 
and  that  it  was  movable.  It  was  determined  that 
every  effort  should  be  made  for  its  removal,  and 
that  for  this  purpose  an  apparatus  should  be  con- 
structed for  inverting  the  body  of  the  patient  in 
order  that  the  weight  of  the  coin  might  assist  the 
natural  effort  to  expel  it  by  coughing.  The  first 
experiment  was  made  on  the  25th.  The  body  of 
the  patient  being  inverted,  and  the  back  being 
gently  struck  with  the  hand  between  the  shoulders, 
a violent  cough  came  on  ; this  was  of  so  alarming 
a nature  that  danger  was  apprehended,  and  the 
experiment  was  discontinued.  On  this  occasion 
the  coin  was  again  moved  from  its  situation,  and 
slipped  towards  the  glottis.  On  the  27th  trache- 
otomy was  performed  by  Sir  B.  Broclie,  assisted  by 
Mr.  Aston  Key,  with  the  intention  of  extracting 
the  coin  by  the  forceps,  if  possible,  or,  in  the  event 
of  this  failing,  with  the  expectation  that  the  opening 
in  the  windpipe  would  facilitate  a repetition  of  the 


XI] 


SUCCESSFUL  EXPERIMENT 


185 

experiment  of  the  22nd.  On  this  occasion,  and 
subsequently  on  May  2nd,  the  introduction  of  the 
forceps  was  attended  with  so  much  irritation  that 
it  could  not  be  persevered  in  without  danger  to 
life.  On  the  3rd  another  consultation  was  held, 
when  Mr.  Lawrence  and  Mr.  Stanley  entirely  con- 
firmed the  views  of  Sir  B.  Brodie  and  Mr.  Key, 
and  it  was  agreed  that  the  experiment  of  inversion 
should  be  repeated  as  soon  as  Mr.  Brunei  had 
recovered  sufficient  strength,  the  incision  in  the 
windpipe  being  kept  open.  On  Saturday,  the  13th, 
Mr.  Brunei  was  again  placed  on  the  apparatus,  the 
body  inverted,  and  the  back  gently  struck.  After 
two  or  three  coughs,  he  felt  the  coin  quit  its  place 
on  the  right  side  of  the  chest,  and  in  a few  seconds 
it  dropped  from  his  mouth  without  exciting  in  its 
passage  through  the  glottis  any  distress  or  incon- 
venience, the  opening  in  the  windpipe  preventing 
any  spasmodic  action  of  the  glottis. 

“ In  this  remarkable  case  the  following  circum- 
stances appear  to  be  worthy  of  note  : that  a piece 
of  gold  remained  in  the  air-tube  for  six  weeks,  quite 
movable,  and  without  exciting  any  inflammatory 
action,  the  breathing  entirely  undisturbed,  and  the 
only  symptoms  of  its  presence  occasional  uneasiness 
on  the  right  side  of  the  chest  and  frequent  fits  of 
coughing  ; that  an  accurate  diagnosis  was  formed 


86 


BRUNEL’S  COOLNESS 


[chap. 


without  being  able  to  obtain  any  assistance  from 
the  stethoscope,  although  the  chest  was  repeatedly 
and  carefully  examined,  and  also  that  a fair  trial 
having  been  given  to  the  forceps,  the  application  of 
this  instrument  to  the  removal  of  a body  of  this 
peculiar  form  from  the  bottom  of  the  bronchus  was 
proved  to  be  attended  with  great  risk  of  life,  while 
the  cautious  and  well-considered  plan  of  treatment 
above  detailed  was  attended  with  complete  success, 
and  without  risk.” 

During  the  time  that  Mr.  Brunei  was  in  danger 
the  public  excitement  was  intense.  His  high  pro- 
fessional position,  the  extraordinary  nature  of  the 
accident,  and  the  greatness  of  the  loss,  were  the 
result  to  prove  fatal,  made  his  condition  and  the 
chances  of  his  recovery  an  engrossing  topic  of  con- 
versation, and  when  the  news  spread  that  “ it  is 
out,”  the  message  needed  no  explanation.  That 
the  result  was  successful  was  due,  not  only  to 
the  skill  of  the  surgeons  engaged  and  to  the 
anxious  care  with  which  those  who  nursed  him 
left  nothing  undone  to  ensure  his  safety,  but  also  to 
the  remarkable  coolness  which  Mr.  Brunei  himself 
displayed  throughout.  From  the  first  he  took  part 
in  the  consultations  which  were  held  on  his  case, 


HIS  DEVICE 


XI] 


1 8; 


and  “ assisted  materially  in  determining  the  course 
of  treatment  which  should  be  pursued.”* 

I think  to  this  account  I must  add  one  or  two 
details. 

At  the  consultation  Brodie  said  he  proposed  to 
take  the  unprecedented  course  of  asking  the  patient 
to  be  present,  and  it  was  Isambard  himself  who 
devised  the  apparatus  above-mentioned.  It  was 


* From  The  Life  of  Isambard  Kingdom  Brunei , Civil  Engineer , 
by  Isambard  Brunei,  B.c.L.,  of  Lincoln’s  Inn,  Chancellor  of  the  Diocese 
of  Ely.  Published  by  Longmans,  Green  and  Co.,  1870. 

This  excellent  book,  written  by  the  eldest  son  of  the  great  engineer, 
is  in  the  opinion  of  those  capable  of  forming  a reliable  one  simply 
admirable  in  its  clear  and  truthful  statements,  combined  with  the  wise 
reticence  of  style  suitable  to  a son  writing  of  a dearly  loved  and 
eminent  father.  Those  connected  with  the  family  of  Brunei  have 
now  to  lament  most  deeply  the  loss  of  this  modest  and  able  chronicler 
of  his  father’s  services  to  his  country.  The  younger  Isambard  Brunei, 
whose  pure  and  noble  life  seems  so  prematurely  cut  off,  was  a notable 
example  of  Christian  fortitude.  He  suffered  from  his  birth  from  a 
grievous  infirmity,  but  he  never  relaxed  his  earnest  and  unselfish  work, 
overcoming  by  steady  courage  the  physical  disabilities  which  would 
have  daunted  a weaker  man.  He  devoted  himself  at  one  time  to  the 
study  of  ecclesiastical  law,  and  became  the  friendly  adviser  of  many 
dignitaries  of  the  Church.  I was  once  dining  in  the  Athenaeum  when 
Parliament  was  sitting,  and  found  he  was  performing  the  same  function 
just  opposite  to  me,  but  so  attended  as  to  make  any  recognition  im- 
possible. He  had  a bishop  seated  on  each  side  of  him,  and  an 
archbishop  standing  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers  to  steady  himself  on 
the  small  table  at  which  Brunei  was  eating  his  simple  repast  in  great 
haste,  all  three  dignitaries  pouring  forth  to  him  at  the  same  time  on 
some  knotty  legal  question  they  wanted  his  aid  in  untying ! I fully 
meant  to  make  a sketch  from  memory  of  the  scene,  but  never  did  so. 


1 88 


LETTER  FROM  I.  K.  B. 


[chap. 


felt  that  the  risk  was  so  great  that  Brodie  said  it 
was  like  asking  a man  to  arrange  his  own  scaffold. 

The  public  interest  was  immense,  and  it  may  be 
mentioned  that  it  was  Macaulay  who  rushed  into 
the  Athenaeum  and  exclaimed,  “It  is  out!”  he  having 
called  at  the  house  to  inquire  ten  minutes  after  the 
operation  had  been  performed. 

I hope  it  will  not  here  be  out  of  place  to  intro- 
duce a letter  written  by  the  father  I.  K.  B.  to  his 
son,  which  gives  better  than  any  words  of  mine  the 
key  to  his  life. 


“ February  2nd , 1858. 

“ My  dear  Isambard, — Thank  you  for  your 
note.  I was  not  sorry  you  were  not  present,  as,  in 
spite  of  any  amount  of  firmness,  one’s  anxieties  are 
incessant  by  the  consideration  of  the  feelings  of 
those  one  loves.  I have  had  a hard  time  of  it, 
and  have  felt  the  advantages  of  perseverance  and 
patience.  But  much  more  than  this  might  be 
learnt  from  the  consideration  of  the  causes  as  well 
as  the  results  of  all  that  has  occurred  during  the 
last  three  months.  I never  felt  more  strongly  than 
I have  on  this  occasion  how  entirely,  or  how  nearly 
so,  all  the  evils  and  difficulties  are  the  result  of 
your  own  imprudence,  or  mistakes,  or  weakness  in 


XI] 


ADVANTAGE  OF  PRAYER 


189 


giving  way  to  feelings  instead  of  considering  well 
what  was  best  in  the  single  view  of  success  in 
the  particular  object  to  be  attained,  and  acting  upon 
the  result  of  that  consideration  without  being  in- 
fluenced by  any  other  feeling.  I had  originally 
designed  a complete  machine  which  would,  as  I 
now  see,  have  launched  the  ship  perfectly.  Under 
the  influence  of  irritating  intrigue  and  insinuation 
about  the  costliness  of  my  intended  operations,  I 
made  experiments  and  satisfied  myself  that,  in  all 
probability,  I could  dispense  with  most  of  the 
apparatus.  I tried  it,  and  hence  all  the  difficulties  ; 
that  I have  succeeded  in  the  end  in  overcoming 
them  is  due  mainly  to  extraordinary  and  unex- 
pectedly favourable  results  in  many  other  parts 
which  I had  no  right  to  calculate  upon,  and  as  a 
crowning  result  we  had  on  Sunday  a combination 
of  circumstances,  of  very  high  tides,  a long  period 
of  high  water,  a very  favourable  wind,  and  a fine 
day,  and  in  the  midst  of  our  operations  a sudden 
relief  from  a difficulty  brought  on  by  our  own 
mistake  (a  mistake  on  board  by  letting  go  a cable), 
a relief  quite  unaccountable,  and  certainly  not 
brought  about  by  any  steps  we  took  to  remove  it. 

“ Finally,  let  me  impress  upon  you  the  advantage 
of  prayer . I am  not  prepared  to  say  that  the 

prayers  of  individuals  can  be  separately  and  in- 


190  LETTER  CONTINUED  [chap,  xi 

dividually  granted  ; that  would  seem  to  be  incom- 
patible with  the  regular  movement  of  the  mechanism 
of  the  universe,  and  it  would  seem  impossible  to 
explain  why  prayer  should  now  be  granted,  now 
refused.  But  of  this  I can  assure  you,  that  I have 
ever  in  my  difficulties  prayed  fervently,  and  that  in 
the  end  my  prayers  have  been,  or  have  appeared  to 
me  to  have  been  granted , and  that  I have  received 

great  comfort.  „ Yours,  etc., 

“ I.  K.  Brunel.” 


CHAPTER  XII 


Uncle  John — Visits  to  Newton’s  Hotel — The  Adelphi — T.  P.  Cooke 
—The  Kembles — Tableaux  vivants — Adelaide  Kemble — Fanny 
Kemble — T aglioni  — D uvernay — H enry  Chorley — Hamlet — The 
fiasco— Peter  Powell — The  Castle  of  Altamont — The  Children  of 
Israel — John  Parry — Dinner  at  the  Royal  Academy  Club. 

IT  was  to  my  good  uncle  John  Callcott  that 
some  of  the  most  blissful  hours  of  my  early 
boyhood  were  due.  He  would  sometimes  dine  me 
at  an  Italian  restaurant,  and  then  take  me  to  the 
play.  At  the  south  side  of  Leicester  Square  were 
several  Queen  Anne  houses,  one  of  which  was 
known  as  Newton’s  Hotel,  for  it  had  been  the 
residence  at  one  time  of  the  great  Sir  Isaac.  In 
the  principal  room,  used  as  the  restaurant,  the 
monogram  “I.N.”  was  done  into  the  ceiling-centre 
with  the  graceful  plaster  frame  of  the  period,  whilst 
panelled  walls  and  doors  bore  testimony  to  its 
decorative  date.  It  added  greatly  to  the  delight 


192 


T.  P.  COOKE 


[chap. 


of  the  Italian  chefs  toothsome  dishes  to  imagine 
the  variety  of  characters  who  might  have  sat  and 
gazed,  as  I did,  at  the  memento  of  this  mighty  man 
of  science,  one  of  his  own  devising  when  building 
the  house,  for  tradition  credits  him  with  having 
been  his  own  architect. 

Our  evenings  were  frequently  spent  at  the 
Adelphi  Theatre,  in  the  Strand,  close  at  hand, 
where  I positively  worshipped  the  actor,  T.  P. 
Cooke,  who  there  reigned  supreme.  It  was  always 
understood  that  in  his  youth  he  had  served  several 
years  before  the  mast  in  the  Royal  Navy,  which 
would  partly  account  for  the  absolutely  perfect  way 
in  which  he  represented  the  British  man-of-war’s 
man  on  the  stage,  and  doubtless  my  seeing  him  so 
often  had  much  to  do  with  my  transient  wish — 
before  alluded  to — to  be  a sailor.  One  day,  when 
I left  the  theatre  in  absolute  rapture  at  his  perform- 
ance in  Black-Eyed  Susan , I said  to  my  uncle, 
“Now,  Uncle  John,  I daresay  you  will  laugh  at 
what  I am  going  to  say,  but  I am  perfectly  certain 
that  when  I am  grown  up  and  have  money  of  my 
own  to  spend,  I shall  come  every  night  to  the 
Adelphi.” 


XII] 


THE  KEMBLES 


93 


The  T.  P.  Cooke  infatuation  lasted  for  some 
time,  and  I was  present  at  his  farewell  benefit, 
when  he  brought  down  the  house  with  a bit  of  im- 
promptu “gag.”  He  broke  down  completely  when 
dancing  his  celebrated  hornpipe,  and  left  the  stage 
gasping  out  “that  he  needed  another  hand  at  the 
bellows.” 

When  I was  a lad  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  I was  taken 
by  my  father  to  call  upon  Charles  Kemble,  then 
living  in  Great  Russell  Street,  Bloomsbury,  with  his 
daughters,  Fanny  and  Adelaide,  my  father  wishing 
to  offer  his  personal  congratulations  on  the  success 
of  Fanny,  who  had  quite  recently  made  her  first 
appearance  on  the  stage,  where  she  had  been 
enthusiastically  received.  Her  sister  Adelaide  had 
been  in  training  for  some  years  as  a singer  for  the 
opera  stage,  and  on  her  appearance  at  Covent 
Garden  was  as  successful  as  her  sister.  She  had  a 
beautiful  soprano  voice  and  was  a delightful  singer 
and  actress,  with  much  charm  of  manner,  and  a 
considerable  share  of  the  family  good  looks. 

At  one  time  we  inaugurated  in  Brunei’s  house  at 
Duke  Street,  some  very  elaborate  tableaux  vivants, 
which  created  quite  a sensation.  They  were  very 


194 


TABLEAUX  VIVANTS 


[CHAP. 


mixed  as  to  subject,  some  classical,  others  realistic, 
and  others  again  representing  well-known  pictures. 
I can  remember  perfectly  the  programme  for  one 
performance.  It  was  to  commence  with  subjects 
from  Flaxmans  Odyssey . Mrs.  Brunei  (my  sister 
Mary)  was  a very  handsome  person,  with  a stately 
figure,  and  was  excellent  as  Penelope,  in  the  scene 
of  the  suitors  surprising  Penelope  at  her  game 
of  deception,  with  her  weaving.  An  imitation  of 
Flaxmans  indication  of  the  loom,  well  made  by 
Webbe  of  Bond  Street,  a famous  upholsterer,  was 
made,  and  a number  of  our  friends  of  various  ages 
and  sizes  were  carefully  selected  to  represent  the 
suitors.  The  next  subject  was  a realistic  one,  of  a 
Neapolitan  group  dancing  the  tarantella,  which  was 
beautifully  arranged  by  Mrs.  Benedict  and  her 
brother,  Csesare,  both  Neapolitans  by  birth. 

The  Duke  Street  house  was  unusually  well  fitted 
for  performances  of  this  kind,  a wide  staircase 
ascending  from  the  entrance  to  the  piano  nobile)  as 
the  Italians  call  what  we  call  the  drawing-room  floor, 
and  a second  back  staircase  for  ordinary  purposes, 
both  leading  to  two  drawing-rooms  and  the  dining- 
room, all  opening  into  each  other.  One  of  the 


XII] 


ADELAIDE  KEMBLE 


95 


drawing-rooms  had  a beautiful  chamber  organ  in  it, 
and  was  called  the  organ-room,  and  Brunei  found 
soothing  moments  and  relief  from  care  when  his  wife 
played  simple  melodies  and  quiet  harmonies  on  that 
king  of  musical  instruments.  At  one  time  we 
indulged  in  some  very  ambitious  attempts  to 
represent  portions  of  cathedral  interiors,  as  back- 
grounds to  a few  figures  characteristic  in  action  and 
appearance,  in  which  pictures  the  organ  accom- 
paniment became  fitting  and  impressive. 

As  regards  the  representation  of  well-known  pic- 
tures, I can  only  remember  in  detail  one  effort,  which 
was  of  infinite  promise,  but  fell  through  so  completely 
that  it  fairly  disheartened  us.  At  this  time  we  used 
to  see  a good  deal  of  Adelaide  Kemble,  and  became 
impressed  with  the  fact  that  there  was  the  strongest 
resemblance  in  her  face  to  that  of  Sarah  Siddons, 
her  aunt,  as  seen  in  Reynolds’s  immortal  picture  of 
her  as  “The  Tragic  Muse.”  My  impression,  when 
mentioned  to  our  fellow-workers  and  arrangers  of 
the  tableaux,  was  so  warmly  seconded  and  approved 
that  I was  empowered  to  ask  Adelaide  if  she  would 
consent  to  take  the  role  for  which  she  was  so  clearly 
designed.  To  my  intense  delight  she  raised  not  the 


THE  TRAGIC  MUSE 


[CHAP. 


196 

slightest  objection,  or  even  criticism  of  the  wish  of 
our  committee,  and  at  once  entered  actively  into 
the  arrangements.  With  these  we  were  convinced 
there  would  be  no  insuperable  difficulty.  Brunei 
set  one  of  his  architect  clerks  to  make  working 
drawings  of  the  throne  on  which  the  Muse  is  seated, 
and  we  entered,  through  Adelaide  Kemble,  into  a 
discussion  with  the  machinist  of  Covent  Garden  as 
to  the  way  in  which  the  rolling  clouds  at  the  feet 
of  the  Muse,  and  the  sky  behind  her  were  to  be 
accomplished,  and  argued  whether  the  attendant 
spirits  of  the  bowl  and  dagger  should  have  male  or 
female  representatives. 

We  agreed  to  ask  permission  of  His  Grace  of 
Westminster  for  frequent  sight  of  the  picture  in  his 
possession,  so  that  ladies  might  examine  and  decide 
upon  the  materials  of  which  the  garments  of  the 
Muse  may  have  been  made,  and  indeed  had  left 
nothing  undone  to  ensure  success,  when  down 
came  the  Muse  in  the  flesh  upon  us,  having  advised 
us  of  her  advent  at  a particular  time,  and  in  a 
lamentable  and  yet  passionate  voice,  stated  that  on 
careful  consideration  she  felt  it  impossible  to  carry 
out  her  promise  to  represent  the  great  Siddons. 


XII] 


FANNY  KEMBLE’S  MARRIAGE  197 


The  blow  to  us  was  such  as  no  words  can  describe, 
and  it  was  so  crushing  that  we  felt  it  was  impossible 
to  attempt  to  avert  it.  We  did  not  even  suggest  an 
explanation  (none  being  offered)  as  to  her  reasons 
for  leaving  us  so  terribly  in  the  lurch,  but  thought  it 
very  likely  that  Fanny,  for  some  reason  of  her  own, 
had  raised  objections. 

After  this  years  passed  during  which  Fanny  had 
married  an  American  gentleman  named  Butler,  and 
Adelaide  a Mr.  Sartoris,  an  Englishman  and  a fox- 
hunter,  decidedly  rough  in  manner,  but  with  a 
softening  grace,  that  of  being  passionately  fond  of 
music.  After  their  marriage  they  took  a small 
house  in  South  Street,  Park  Lane,  where  I spent 
many  delightful  musical  evenings.  When  she 
was  performing  at  the  opera  she  would  invite  two  or 
three  intimate  friends  to  call  upon  her  during  the 
evening,  and  she  interviewed  us,  not  only  between 
the  acts,  but  would  have  two  or  three  chairs  placed 
at  the  wings,  where  they  were  invisible  to  the 
audience,  but  upon  which  she  could  place  her 
friends,  and  chat  to  them  between  her  “ exits  and 
her  entrances.” 

In  those  days  certain  “men  about  town”  were 


198 


TAGLIONI 


[chap. 


classed  by  managers  as  “ patrons  of  the  opera,” 
men  who  had  their  private  stalls  both  at  opera  and 
theatre,  and  a key  that  would  admit  them  on  to  the 
stage  itself  between  the  acts.  Knowing  one  of  this 
favoured  set,  I two  or  three  times  found  myself 
behind  the  scenes,  and  very  amusing  it  was.  The 
incident  that  struck  me  most  was  the  apparently 
reckless  way  in  which  the  chorus,  and  at  times  the 
whole  corps  de  ballet , would  laugh  and  talk  even 
whilst  the  soloists  were  performing  their  parts  for 
the  delectation  of  the  audience  and  spectators  in 
front.  Marie  Taglioni,  Duvernay,  Cerito,  and  the 
Sisters  Elsler  were  amongst  the  premieres  danseuses 
I remember.  Alfred  Chalons  drawing  of  Taglioni 
as  “ La  Sylphide  ” gives  a perfect  idea  of  what  she 
was.  I was  near  to  her  at  a Mansion  House  dinner 
later  on,  given  by  the  Lord  Mayor  of  the  time,  in 
honour  of  all  the  arts,  and  in  which  Taglioni,  as  an 
inspired  mistress  of  graceful  posture,  was  most 
worthily  included.  After  her  dancing  days  were 
over  she  became  a fashionable  teacher  of  “deport- 
ment.” She  was  always  spoken  of  as  immaculate 
in  character,  and  had  the  appearance  of  a charming, 
sweet-tempered,  elderly  lady,  who  might  have 


XII] 


DUVERNAY 


199 


brought  her  cap  in  a paper  bag  to  put  it  on  in  the 
ladies’  room  at  the  Mansion  House  on  the  night  of 
a banquet.  She  married,  but  it  was  said  not 
happily,  and  that  her  husband  spent  the  most  of  her 
property. 

Duvernay  was  French,  and  extremely  pretty, 
and  married  a rich  Englishman,  who  in  the  days 
of  his  youth  was  called  “ Pea-Green  Hay.”  He 
was  wealthy  and  dressy,  and  had  large  landed 
property  in  Cambridgeshire.  She  survived  her 
husband  many  years,  and  spent  many  thousands 
in  building  a Roman  Catholic  church  on  her 
property.  I was  at  the  back  of  the  stage  one 
night  at  Covent  Garden,  where  she  was  perform- 
ing, and  was  called  on  several  times  amidst  frantic 
applause.  On  her  returning  amidst  the  corps  de 
ballet , who  were  all  squatted  on  the  ground,  ac- 
cording to  their  stage  direction,  they  took  up  the 
applause  of  the  house  and  clapped  most  vigorously. 
She  carried  her  nez  en  V air , and  her  right  hand  on 
her  waist,  and  walked  through  her  companions  with 
profound  indifference.  She,  too,  happily  possessed 
an  excellent  character.  As  soon  as  she  was  out  of 
sight  of  the  stage  box,  her  maid,  who  was  waiting 


200 


HENRY  CHORLEY 


[chap. 


for  her,  clasped  her  waist  with  both  hands,  whilst 
Duvernay  twisted  and  twirled  her  figure  and  limbs 
in  every  imaginable  way.  She  did  this,  it  was  said, 
to  retain  the  lissomness  of  her  figure  up  to  the 
moment  of  going  to  the  front  again. 

The  Elslers  were  German,  and  too  big  and 
heavy  to  produce  an  impression  of  much  grace, 
and  their  postures  were  frequently  tasteless  and 
audacious. 

Mrs.  Butler  and  her  husband  took  a house  for 
the  season  in  Upper  Grosvenor  Street,  while  the 
Sartoris’s  were  in  South  Street,  Mayfair.  Calling 
upon  the  former,  I found  in  the  drawing-room  into 
which  I was  ushered  a man  very  well  known  in  the 
musical  world,  Henry  F.  Chorley  by  name. 

Whilst  we  were  sitting  waiting,  the  little  Butler 
girls  came  in,  and  H.  F.  Chorley  immediately  made 
up  to  them  and  insisted  on  one  of  them  sitting  on 
his  knee,  to  her  evident  dislike.  He  began  making 
small  talk  to  her,  and  said  in  his  rather  squeaky 
voice,  “ I can  see  by  your  look  that  you  are  a very 
good  little  girl  ” ; she  looked  up  at  him,  eyeing  him 
with  a deep,  tragic  Kemble  eye,  and  retorted,  “No 
I am  not;  mother  and  I have  horrid  tempers,  horrid \ 


XII] 


“HAMLET” 


201 


and  though  we  try  to  get  the  better  of  them,  they 
generally  get  the  better  of  us.” 

I was  rather  surprised  at  receiving  a note  one 
day  from  Mrs.  Sartoris,  saying  that  she  was  very 
anxious  to  carry  on  the  tableaux  vivants  at  her 
own  house,  and  would  like  my  help,  which  was 
readily  given.  But  I soon  found,  as  was  perhaps 
to  be  expected,  that  their  ideas  and  mine  differed 
very  much,  they  having,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
no  intention  of  creating  any  illusion,  nor  caring 
sufficiently  about  the  composition  and  grouping, 
nor  the  beauty  of  line  and  colour  which  we  had 
so  carefully  aimed  at,  but  rather  proposing  merely 
a series  of  dramatic  scenes,  in  which  they  were 
content  with  the  rather  commonplace  dresses  of  the 
stage  as  it  was  then.  However,  I loyally  did  my 
best  to  help  them,  though  I was  very  dubious  as  to 
the  success  of  the  scenes  from  Hamlet , which  they 
had  arranged. 

The  evening  arrived.  The  front  room  was 
crowded  with  a fashionable  assembly.  Mrs.  Butler 
was  to  enact  Hamlet’s  mother,  her  husband  was  to 
be  Hamlet,  and  the  ghost  was  to  be  represented  by 
a Captain  de  Bathe  (now  an  elderly  general),  over 


202 


A HIGHLAND  FLING 


[chap. 


six  feet  in  height,  and  magnificently  attired  in  a 
complete  suit  of  armour. 

“ Hamlet  ” had  been  dining  out,  and  returned 
home  barely  in  time,  and  what  was  worse,  it  was  too 
evident  that  he  had  been  dining.  I shall  never 
forget  the  impassioned  voice  in  which  his  wife 
recited  to  him,  book  in  hand,  the  scene  about  to 
be  represented,  trying,  as  she  said,  to  inspire  him 
with  the  spirit  of  the  thing.  It  was  all  in  vain  ; he 
was  cross,  he  was  sulky,  he  refused  to  pose  properly, 
and  the  scene  became  intense — words  grew  hotter 
and  hotter,  and  only  the  immense  chatter  of  the 
fashionable  throng  prevented,  as  I hoped,  the  quar- 
rel from  being  overheard.  I distinctly  heard  the 
high-pitched  voice  of  Lady  Morgan  saying,  “When 
are  they  going  to  begin  ? ” 

We,  who  were  helping  in  various  parts  and  ways, 
did  our  best  to  smooth  matters  down,  but  in  vain  ; 
finally  the  ghost,  who  was  determined  to  effect  a 
diversion,  began  to  dance  a Highland  fling  in  his 
armour!  The  clanking  and  the  noise  may  be 
imagined,  and  the  impatient  audience  pushed  aside 
the  curtains  and  had  at  all  events,  to  their  great 
delight,  one  very  “animated  picture.”  That  was 


XII] 


PETER  POWELL 


203 


all  they  did  have  ; the  Hamlet  tableaux  ended  in 
fiasco  and  supper ! 

Amongst  my  most  talented  and  original  friends, 
the  name  of  Peter  Powell  must  be  recorded.  His 
gifts  were  many ; he  was  no  mean  limner,  and  a 
most  discerning  critic,  but  it  is  as  a humorist  that 
he  will  be  remembered.  His  personal  appearance 
was  peculiar ; he  was  barely  five  feet  in  height, 
very  rotund  and  portly  in  figure,  with  a bald 
head,  a round  face  full  of  fun  and  jollity, 
and  keen,  twinkling  eyes.  Early  in  life  he  had 
obtained  a post  in  the  War  Office,  and  he  there 
discharged  his  duties  so  admirably  as  to  gain 
the  respect  of  all  his  colleagues.  His  father 
died  early,  and  the  entire  care  and  support  of 
his  mother  devolved  on  him,  and  his  steady 
devotion  to  her  made  large  claims  on  his  purse 
and  his  leisure. 

His  favourite  recreation  was  play-going,  and  his 
keen  sense  of  humour  and  histrionic  powers  en- 
abled him  to  reproduce,  in  the  most  vivid  manner, 
what  had  specially  struck  him  in  theatre,  concert- 
room,  or  even  in  church.  This  he  did  with  a 


204 


POWELL’S  PERFORMANCES 


[chap. 


marked  fidelity,  combined  with  a truly  marvellous 
power  of  caricature. 

Single-handed  he  would  represent  an  entire  stage 
company  in  turns,  including  the  full  band,  when 
necessary.  Any  drawing-room  would  content  him 
as  a stage,  and  with  such  brief  asides  as  “ this  is  a 
throne — that  is  a castle — a tree”— he,  by  his  splen- 
did and  audacious  make-believe,  would  carry  his 
delighted  audience  along  with  him,  their  imagina- 
tion responding  to  each  new  demand  made  upon  it. 

He  had  a most  extensive  repertoire , but  his  two 
stock  pieces  were  an  oratorio  entitled  The  Children 
of  Israel , and  a melodrama,  The  Castle  of  Alta - 
mont. 

Now  before  I attempt  to  describe  in  writing  some 
fragments  of  Peter  Powells  wonderful  performance, 
I must  beg  my  readers  to  bear  in  mind  that  he 
alone  literally  conveyed  the  appearance  and  action 
of  every  individual  character  represented  on  the 
stage,  and  by  his  marvellous  energy  sustained  the 
interest  of  the  audience  to  the  end.  The  only 
portion  of  human  form  ever  seen  on  the  stage 
besides  that  of  Peter  Powell  was  an  attendant’s 
hand  appearing  from  behind  the  drawing-room 


XII] 


HIS  PERSONALITY 


205 


curtain  at  the  back  of  the  stage  handing  the  solitary 
performer  a stiff  tumbler  of  brandy  and  water  to 
sip  when  he  had  a chance,  and  refresh  himself. 
The  droll  little  man  was  like  Hamlet,  “ fat  and 
scant  of  breath,”  and  he  got  so  excited  with  his 
work  that  my  dear  mother,  I believe,  was  more  or 
less  in  an  agony  of  fright  at  certain  points  of  his 
performance,  fully  expecting  that  “something” 
would  happen  to  Peter  Powell,  and  that  his  collapse 
might  take  place  at  any  moment. 

fUag  of  % “(Eastk  of  JUtamoni” 

DRAMATIS  PERSONAE 
The  Baron  of  Altamont 
LlNDOR,  in  love  with  Adela 
Adela,  in  love  with  LlNDOR 
A Country  Maiden  accompanied  by  other  Maidens 
and  Villagers 
An  Army 

SCENE  I 

Exterior  of  Altamont  Castle 
A little  like  England,  a good  deal  like  France 

Enter  LlNDOR  ( sadly  melancholy  and  in  reflective  action). 

LlNDOR.  Times  are  sadly  changed  since  I and  the  Baron 
were  scho-ol-fellars — now  he  is  possessor  of  yon  lordly 


206 


POWELL’S  PLAY 


[chap. 


castle  whilst  I,  a poor  miserable  outcast,  wander  here  and 
there  and  every  er-ware  in  search  of  me  dear,  dear  Adela. 

[ Music  of  the  harp  sounds. 
Soft  ye  now  ! Music  in  yonder  tower.  Hark  ! she  sings  ; 
perchance  a captive. 

“ Humpty-Dumpty  set  on  a wall.” 

[LlN DOR  frightfully  agitated. 

By  heavens ! ’tis  my  Adela ; I know  her.  She  sings 
again, 

“ Oh,  I am  a prisoner  here, 

With  nothing  to  drink  but  stale  small  beer.” 

[LlNDOR  becomes  frantic , tears  his  hair  and  behaves 
maniacally  and  cries  aloud: 

My  Adela  a prisoner  in  yonder  tower,  with  nothing  to 
drink  but  stale  small  bee-er. 

\Then  staring  at  the  audience  with  madness  in  his  eyes 
and  after  a pause  of  frenzied  silence , screams  out : 

It  can’t  agree  with  her,  it  never  did  with  me. 

[ Retiring  to  back  of  stage  mouthi?ig,  yelling  and  again 
tearing  his  hair,  then  collides  with  a group  of  festive 
peasants.  LlNDOR  advances , and  addressing  the  prin- 
cipal maiden  of  the  group : 

“ And  who  have  we  here  ? Where  are  you  going  to,  my 
pretty  maiden  ? ” 

She  replies,  “ I am  going  to  be  married,  sir.” 

“To  be  married,  are  you ? ” 

“Yes,  if  you  please,  sir,  the  good  Baron  Altamont.” 

[LlNDOR  furious. 

“ The  good  Baron  of  Altamont  indeed , know  ye  not  that 


XII] 


44 THE  CASTLE  OF  ALTAMONT” 


20  7 


your  good  Baron  of  Altamont  has  taken  captive  my  Adela, 
and  imprisoned  her  in  yonder  tow-ar  ? ” 

Maiden  and  Friends.  “No.  If  you  please,  sir,  we 
don’t  know  nothink  about  the  matter ! ” 

LlNDOR.  “ But  now  that  you  know  it,  will  ye  not  rather 
than  be  married  under  his  hateful  auspices  join  me  in 
attacking  the  castle  and  rescuing  my  Adela  ? ” 

[All  shout  in  Chorus. 

“ Hooray,  hooray,  attack  the  castle,  ’tack  the  castle ! ” 
etc.  [LlNDOR  deeply  depressed. 

“ Ah ! but,  my  friends,  the  castle  is  strong  and  we  are 
weak.”  [ Sniffs , and  is  slightly  affected  to  tears. 

Maiden.  “ Oh,  if  you  please,  sir,  you  need  not  mind 
that,  for  our  army  is  at  hand,  and  will  be  here  shortly.” 

LlNDOR.  “ Oh  ! if  your  army  is  at  hand,  all  may  yet  be 
well ! ” 

Maiden.  “ See,  ’ere  it  comes.” 

Enter  the  Peasants’  Army  with  band , etc.  After  per- 
forming a variety  of  military  evolutions , the  army 
makes  a furious  onslaught  on  the  castle.  LlNDOR  has 
a terrific  single-handed  combat  with  the  Baron , zvho 
fights  to  the  last , and  dies  an  elaborate  death  on  Lindods 
sword.  Adela  released , rushes  from  the  castle  nuns 
into  Lin  dor’s  arms,  where  she  is  enfolded  and  much 
embraced  when  LlNDOR  to  public  astonishment  puts  her 
from  him , but  gently,  and  gasps  out : 

“ Methinks  I scent  the  stale  small  beer ! But  no  matter.” 

[And  does  the  enfolding  and  embracing  a second  time , and 
with  this  final  sensation  the  drama  ends  in  a tableau  of 
all  the  performers , amidst  uproarious  applause. 


208 


“THE  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL”  [cHap. 


©ratorin 

“THE  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL” 
PERFORMERS 

Grand  Double  Chorus , Soprano  and  Tenor  Soloists,  Organist , 
Conductor  of  the  Oratorio . Music  Attendant , etc. 

Organist  takes  his  seat  at  the  organ  (represented  by  a 
card-table  with  candles),  under  the  table  you  can  see  the 
legs  and  feet  of  organist  playing  the  pedals  vigorously. 
Organist  pulls  out  the  stops  on  either  side  of  the  key- 
board, and  is  constantly  pulling  them  out  or  pushing  them 
in,  varying  the  tone  effects  at  pleasure.  Organist  now 
plays  in  the  chorus.  Singers  and  the  members  of  orchestra 
who  enter  with  their  various  instruments  in  hand,  and  who 
commence  tuning  them,  the  organist  playing  the  key-note 
for  them  on  the  organ.  The  music  attendant  goes  about 
constantly  making  sure  that  all  the  performers  in  the  band 
are  provided  with  their  “ parts,”  if  not,  he  provides  them 
from  a reserve  he  has  under  his  arm,  of  which  he  drops  some 
in  his  difficult  progress  amongst  the  orchestra.  When  all  is 
considered  ready,  the  conductor  leaves  his  perch,  which  is 
erected  towards  the  centre,  low-down  of  the  orchestra,  and 
goes  out  in  order  to  conduct  the  lady  solo  singers  to  their 
chairs,  placed  in  the  centre  right  and  left  of  the  conductor’s 
perch.  The  entrance  of  these  public  favourites  leads  to 
much  clapping  of  hands  from  the  assembled  audience. 
The  male  soloists  follow  on,  but  have  no  conductor,  they 
come  in  with  more  or  less  ovation  from  the  audience 
according  to  their  public  reputation. 


XII] 


POWELL’S  VOCAL  POWERS 


209 


The  conductor  having  seen  his  soloist  trebles  and  altos 
safely  chaired , hops  back  on  to  his  perch,  seizes  his  baton, 
waves  it,  and  then  raps  it  on  the  edge  of  his  music-stand, 
which  signal  sharply  brings  to  their  feet  the  whole  band 
who  have  to  play  the  overture  to  The  Children  of  Israel. 

There  is  almost  invariably  a part  for  the  organist 
in  all  oratorios,  and  this  was  not  forgotten  by  Peter 
Powell  in  his  overture  to  The  Children  of  Israel \ 
neither  was  the  solemn  impression  of  Handel’s 
scheme  of  overture  omitted,  but  rather  strictly 
followed.  The  grand  commencement  of  stately 
chordal  (or  choral)  intricacies,  enriched  and  varied 
by  pathetic  portions  of  heavenly  strains  in  slow 
movement,  then  the  sharp,  incisive  dash  of  the  ex- 
hilarating fugue,  working  together  the  various 
themes  to  their  legitimate  conclusion.  Peter’s  vocal 
powers  were  never  idle,  but  were  of  the  nature  of 
humming , with  that  near  approach  that  great 
musicians  make  to  singing  passages  of  their  MS. 
compositions,  when  they  are  privately  showing  them 
to  intimate  professional  friends.  The  humming 
with  lips  closed  was  the  great  factor  in  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  various  voices  and  instruments, 
except  when  the  words  of  a libretto  had  to  be  dealt 


210 


POWELL’S  ADMIRERS 


[chap. 


with.  When  this  was  requisite,  it  was  an  extra 
demand  on  Peter’s  genius,  but  he  never  failed  to 
meet  it  from  the  inexhaustible  wealth  of  his  varied 
powers. 

Then,  to  complete  my  account  in  connection  with 
Peter  Powell’s  performance,  I must  again  beg  my 
readers  to  remember  that  it  was  conveyed  to  the 
audience  chiefly  by  dumbshow,  assisted  by  his 
musical  sounds,  produced  as  I have  described. 
Unlike  other  entertainers  he  did  not  attempt  to 
play  a pianoforte  accompaniment,  or  to  bring  a 
trained  hand  with  him.  The  whole  success  was 
due  entirely  to  his  keen  sense  of  humour  and  his 
marvellous  powers  of  observation  and  reproduction. 

From  the  time  I was  a lad  of  twelve,  I must  have 
seen  the  performance  dozens  of  times,  always  with 
increased  delight,  and  I was  struck  with  its  effect 
upon  audiences  of  all  kinds.  All  painters  were 
impressed,  and  I remember  no  one  more  enthusi- 
astic than  that  delightful  man  and  artist,  Charles 
Robert  Leslie,  r.a.  On  leaving  he  entreated  my 
mother  to  give  him  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the 
performance  repeated,  and  when  he  came  he  brought 
with  him  Washington  Irving,  that  charming  Ameri- 


XII] 


JOHN  PARRY 


21  I 


can  author,  who  afterwards  wrote  a most  racy  and 
highly  appreciative  account  of  the  evening  with 
Pietro  Poweilino,  as  some  of  his  admirers  called  him. 

Now  I feel  most  sincerely  that  my  rough  sketch 
of  Peter  Powell  and  his  work  fails  ineffably  to  do 
either  justice,  it  is  essentially  fragmentary  ; but  to 
bolster  up  my  weakness,  I can  state  the  opinion  of 
one  of  the  keenest  and  shrewdest  men  in  the  musical 
and  theatrical  professions,  and  that  was  the  late 
Sir  George  Smart,  who,  after  seeing  the  perform- 
ance once  or  twice  here,  wrote  to  Peter  Powell 
offering  to  arrange  everything  for  his  appearance  in 
public,  anticipating  a success  of  the  most  brilliant 
kind.  But  this  was  an  idea  of  such  overpowering 
magnitude  to  Peter  Powell  that  he  thankfully 
declined  the  offer,  giving  such  reasons  on  the  score 
of  health  as  quite  to  prevent  any  friendly  pressure 
being  tried  upon  him.  He  only  lived  a few  years 
after  this  period,  and  passed  away  loved  and  re- 
spected by  all  who  knew  him. 

John  Parry,  the  musician  and  public  singer,  and 
his  father,  the  well-known  harpist,  were  friends  of 
my  family,  and  frequently  came  to  our  house,  so 
I do  not  doubt  they  were  present  at  one  or  more  of 


212 


PARRY’S  PLAYING 


[chap. 


Peter  Powell’s  performances,  and  that  young  Parry, 
who  brought  the  descriptive  society  songs  with 
pianoforte  accompaniments  to  perfection,  got  not  a 
few  hints  from  Peter’s  7nodus  operandi. 

Thalberg  was  one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
pianoforte  players  for  manipulative  power.  (He 
was  said  to  be  the  son  of  an  Austrian  prince,  and 
certainly  such  an  origin  was  borne  out  by  his 
strikingly  handsome  person.)  His  verdict  on  Parry’s 
playing  was  that  he  possessed  the  most  perfect 
touch  he  had  ever  heard.  No  one  who  heard  his 
amusing  rendering  of  a conjugal  quarrel  and  final 
reconciliation  will  ever  forget  the  way  in  which, 
when  he  uttered  the  word  “ Maria,”  he  touched  one 
note  on  the  piano,  accompanied  by  sighs  and 
gaspings,  giving  by  this  veritable  stroke  of  genius, 
the  exact  impression  of  a forefinger  laid  caress- 
ingly on  a waist ! 

His  happiness  and  even  his  success  in  his  career 
were  greatly  marred  by  the  most  afflicting  nervous- 
ness about  his  public  appearances.  This  frequently 
compelled  him  to  throw  up  profitable  public  engage- 
ments, and  finally  led  to  his  leaving  the  stage,  to 
the  great  regret  of  the  musical  world. 


XII] 


HIS  NERVOUSNESS 


213 


On  one  occasion  Gerome,  the  French  painter, 
was  visiting  London  with  some  artist  friends.  They 
were  invited  to  dine  at  the  Royal  Academy  Club, 
at  which  John  Parry,  an  ever-welcome  guest,  was 
to  be  present.  It  happened  to  be  my  turn  to  pre- 
side, and  Parry  was  placed  on  my  left  hand  and 
Gerome  on  the  right.  Towards  the  end  of  dinner 
Parry,  leaning  against  me,  whispered  with  his  mouth 
close  to  my  ear,  “ Now,  my  dear  friend,  is  the  hour 
of  horror  for  me.”  “ What  on  earth  do  you  mean?” 
I answered.  “ Why,”  he  said,  “ if  you  don’t  do  it 
yourself,  there  are  a dozen  others  within  my  vision 
who  will  call  upon  me  to  ‘ do  something,’  in  sing- 
song or  saying,  and  tis  a toss  up  whether  I shall 
not  break  down  as  soon  as  I am  on  my  feet,  and 
bolt  from  the  room ! ” I saw  from  his  expression 
and  the  livid  pallor  of  his  face  in  what  deadly 
earnestness  he  was  speaking,  and  assured  him  that 
neither  I nor  anyone  else  would  ask  him  to  put 
such  a strain  upon  himself,  and  that  we  would  wait 
half  an  hour. 

Before  the  half-hour  was  over,  to  my  great  relief 
as  chairman  of  the  evening,  Parry  whispered  that 
he  had  conquered  for  the  time  the  foul  fiend,  and 


214 


PARRY’S  INGENUITY 


[chap. 


that  I might  announce  him  to  sing  a song  with 
trumpet  obligato.  The  announcement  was  received 
with  wild  enthusiasm  by  all  present.  This  special 
performance  was  new  to  me  and  most  of  us.  He 
walked  quietly  to  the  piano,  took  up  a piece  of 
music,  which  he  rolled  up  to  represent  a silver 
trumpet,  giving  it  a splay ed-out  mouth.  He  twisted 
his  white  handkerchief  of  a filmy  kind  into  the 
semblance  of  a cord,  which  he  wound  round  the 
trumpet  to  keep  it  in  shape.  He  placed  a long 
music-book  on  the  stand,  and  supporting  the  wide 
end  of  the  extemporised  instrument  against  the 
book,  he  brought  the  other  against  his  lips,  keeping 
it  quite  rigid,  and  leaving  his  hands  free  to  play 
with  both  hands  the  accompaniment  to  the  trumpet 
solo  on  the  piano.  The  ingenuity  of  the  “combine” 
and  its  perfect  success  enchanted  the  audience,  and 
Parry  gave  an  artfully  selected  list  of  national  airs 
of  both  countries — “God  Save  the  Queen,”  “The 
Marseillaise,”  “ Marlbrook  s’en  va  t’en  guerre,”  etc. 
The  enthusiasm  evoked  was  immense,  and  Parry 
was  more  than  pleased  at  his  reception,  and  passed 
from  one  success  to  another  till  the  party  was  com- 
pelled to  break  up.  The  Frenchmen  were  delighted, 


Xllj 


SOCIETY  ENTERTAINERS 


215 


and  most  anxious  that  Parry  should  be  seen  and 
heard  in  Paris,  little  guessing  what  he  had  endured 
before  he  was  able  to  open  his  mouth  in  the  presence 
of  even  the  most  appreciative  audience,  or  they  would 
not  have  made  such  a proposition.  He  struggled  on, 
despite  all  his  mental  sufferings,  in  order  to  support 
his  wife  and  family,  bearing  his  cross  bravely,  and 
consoled  when  sometimes  for  weeks  together  the 
evil  spirit  left  him  in  peace. 

Both  Parry  and  Powell  gave  small  entertainments. 
For  instance,  Powell  would  swathe  his  hands  in 
white  kid  gloves,  and  on  a card-table,  with  his  cuffs 
turned  up,  would  give  a complete  ballet  dance  with 
inimitable  grace  and  humour,  turning  his  stiff  male 
fingers  into  lissom  female  legs  before  the  astonished 
eyes  of  spectators.  At  the  beginning  of  this  per- 
formance he  would  go  through  the  tuning  up  of 
the  'cello  most  elaborately,  which  always  elicited 
rapturous  encores. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Parry  and  Peter  Powell 
were  the  forerunners  of  society  entertainers,  such 
as  xYlbert  Smith,  Corney  Grain,  and  George 
Grossmith. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


Michael  Faraday — Lectures  on  chemistry  of  colour — His  personal 
appearance — Expressions  of  faith — Huxley — Lecture  at  the  Royal 
Institution — The  microbe — Huxley’s  eloquence — His  admirers. 


IS  sixty  years  since”  and  more  that  I as 


a young  boy  attended  Faraday’s  lectures 
on  the  chemistry  of  colours  at  the  Royal  Institu- 
tion. A friend  of  those  days,  interested  in  my 
early  efforts  as  an  art  student,  gave  me  a ticket  for 
the  course  of  lectures,  considering  that  they  would 
be  of  practical  service  to  me  as  a painter.  I had 
to  be  at  Albemarle  Street  three  days  a week  at 
7.45  a.m.  The  lectures  were  so  fully  attended  that 
an  early  arrival  was  necessary  to  secure  a good 


I took  elaborate  notes  of  what  I heard  and  saw, 
but  artists  are  not  sent  into  the  world  with  scientific 
tendencies  as  a rule,  to  which  I am  assuredly  no 
exception.  1 may  here  formally  confess  that  neither 


place. 


216 


CHAP.  XIII] 


FARADAY  AS  LECTURER 


217 


Faraday’s  brilliant  discourses  nor  other  scientific 
aids  have  been  of  professional  use  to  me.  But 
what  did  most  deeply  impress  me  were  the  bright- 
ness of  presence,  the  charm  of  manner  and  language, 
and  the  marvellous  manipulative  skill  of  the  lecturer. 

I can  see  him  now,  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  enter- 
ing the  laboratory,  advancing  quickly  to  the  table, 
and  looking  round  his  audience  with  a beaming 
glance  from  eyes,  which  for  beauty  and  intense  in- 
tellectual power  of  expression  I never  saw  equalled — 
then  plunging  into  his  subject  without  a moment’s 
hesitation,  with  rapid  but  perfectly  distinct  utterance 
of  words  of  real  and  true  eloquence,  powerful,  yet 
simple  and  clear  even  to  such  unscientific  dullards 
as  myself,  and  illustrating  his  subject  by  experi- 
ments of  unerring  certainty.  He  was  at  this  time 
about  forty  years  of  age,  with  dark  hair  curling 
profusely  round  his  head,  and  showing  then  no 
trace  of  the  “hoary  head”  which  “is  a crown  of 
glory  when  it  is  found  in  the  paths  of  righteous- 
ness,” of  which  he  became  later  so  beautiful  an 
exemplification.  I was  afterwards  made  known  to 
him  personally,  but  was  still  too  young  to  profit  by 
this  privilege.  My  subsequent  knowledge  of  him 


218 


FARADAY’S  FAITH 


[chap. 


was  derived  from  constant  association  with  some  of 
his  intimate  friends  and,  since  his  death,  by  means 
of  the  admirable  memoir  of  him  by  Dr.  Bence 
Jones,  and  from  Dr.  Gladstone’s  interesting  volume 
entitled  Michael  Faraday  and  Professor  Tyndall’s 
Faraday  as  a Discoverer. 

It  is  good  in  these  troubled  days  to  recall  some 
of  the  expressions  of  the  faith  to  which  his  whole 
life  was  a testimony.  “ There  is  One  above  who 
worketh  in  all  things,  and  who  governs  even  in  the 
midst  of  that  misrule  to  which  the  tendencies  and 
powers  of  men  are  so  easily  perverted.”  And 
again,  he  wrote  to  a friend  of  mine,  “ I am  no 
discoverer,  but  simply  one  of  a vast  crowd  of 
workers  scattered  over  the  earth,  who  in  the  provi- 
dence of  God  are  invested  with  some  portion  of  the 
divine  afflatus  and  appointed  to  show  forth  His 
mercy  and  loving-kindness  in  conferring  fresh 
benefits  on  His  people;  the  varied  merits  of  such 
agents  being  evinced  in  the  comparative  zeal  and 
self-sacrifice  with  which  they  carried  out  the  mission 
entrusted  to  them.” 

Dr.  Gladstone  eloquently  says  : “ Faraday  was 
one  of  that  long  line  of  scientific  men  beginning 


XIII] 


PROFESSOR  HUXLEY 


219 


with  the  savants  of  the  East  who  brought  to  the 
Redeemer  the  gold,  frankincense,  and  myrrh  of 
their  adoration.” 

With  what  ineffable  pity  would  Faraday,  in  his 
deep  humility,  have  read  such  an  assertion  as 
Professor  Huxley  made,  that  such  an  abiding  trust 
as  his  was  simply  “a  glorying  in  blind  faith,”  and 
his  assent  to  Christian  doctrines  “ an  immoral 
pretence  ” ! 

I first  met  Professor  Huxley  at  Cragside,  the 
late  Lord  Armstrong’s  beautiful  place  in  North- 
umberland. 

I had  heard,  of  course,  of  his  powers  as  a 
lecturer,  and  when  on  one  occasion  I met  him  at  the 
Athenaeum  and  inquired  after  his  health,  he  replied 
that  he  was  really  well  enough,  but  for  the  fatigue 
caused  by  his  labour  in  preparing  a lecture  for  the 
Royal  Institution,  upon  an  organism  recently  dis- 
covered by  Tyndall  in  water,  which  had  completely 
baffled  the  most  indefatigable  observers.  The 
lecture  was  delivered  at  the  Royal  Institution  in 
the  height  of  the  season,  on  one  of  the  well-known 
“ Friday  evenings,”  and  it  was  attended  by  some 


220  HUXLEY'S  GREAT  LECTURE  [Chap. 

hundreds  of  fashionable  men  and  women  in  full 
dress,  who  were  due  after  the  lecture  at  various 
society  engagements.  I was  there  early  to  secure 
a seat,  and  watched  the  pressing  in  of  admiring 
throngs  till  the  theatre  was  crowded,  and  people 
sat  even  upon  the  edge  of  the  lecturer’s  table. 
The  walls  were  hung  from  ceiling  to  floor  with 
elaborate  diagrams,  drawn  from  the  lenses  of  the 
powerful  microscopes  used  to  magnify  the  pro- 
portions of  the  aqueous  microbe.  They  were 
certainly  not  “things  of  beauty!” 

I remember  distinctly  the  opening  and  conclud- 
ing words  of  the  address,  which  was  delivered  in 
the  admirable  and  lucid  style  for  which  the  lecturer 
was  so  famous.  He  stated  the  facts  of  the  dis- 
covery by  Tyndall,  and  then  dwelt  on  the  import- 
ance of  ascertaining  whether  the  microbe  was 
animal  or  vegetable.  He  spoke  with  warm  admira- 
tion of  the  devotion  of  sundry  sons  of  science,  who 
had  watched  the  microbe  immersed  in  water  by  day 
and  night  for  several  weeks,  the  water  having 
colouring  matter  in  it,  so  that  the  corpus  being 
transparent  and  constantly  inspected  by  a powerful 
microscope,  the  examiners  would  discover  whether 


XIII] 


THE  MICROBE 


221 


he  had  imbibed  any  of  the  colouring  matter,  in 
which  case  it  could  be  credited  with  a stomach 
and  numbered  with  the  animal  creation.  “ But/’ 
said  Huxley  in  conclusion,  “after  many  experi- 
ments, up  to  this  time,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  are 
unable  to  decide  whether  this  interesting  microbe 
is  animal  or  vegetable.” 

The  following  day  I met  Huxley  at  the 
Athenaeum ; he  said  he  hoped  I had  been  much 
impressed  with  the  microbes  history,  and  I ven- 
tured to  compliment  him  on  the  extreme  clearness 
with  which  he  had  given  it,  but  could  not  help 
adding  that  I was  reminded  all  the  time  of  the 
well-known  story  of  Lord  Melbourne,  who,  when 
he  was  troubled  by  some  fussy  colleague  in  the 
ministry  respecting  a knotty  point  that  was  likely 
to  cause  bother  and  trouble  in  Parliament,  said, 
“ Can’t  you  let  it  alone  ? ” “ So  why  could  you  not 

let  that  poor  little  microbe  alone  ? ” upon  which  he 
shook  his  fist  at  me,  and  we  parted  with  a hearty 
laugh. 

He  was  at  all  times  full  of  humour,  and  de- 
lighted in  hearing  and  telling  good  stories,  which 
made  those  “high  teas”  on  Sunday  evenings 


222 


HUXLEY  AT  HOME 


[chap. 


at  his  house  in  the  Regent’s  Park  so  especially 
attractive. 

No  more  devoted  husband,  father,  or  friend  than 
Huxley  ever  lived,  I believe,  but  notwithstanding 
my  admiration  for  him,  I could  never  feel  quite  at 
ease  in  discussion  with  him,  dreading  always  an 
explosion  upon  questions  I hold  most  dear  and 
vital ; but  I look  back  with  devout  gratitude  to  the 
fact,  that  though  we  have  walked  together  over 
moor  and  fell  for  miles  and  miles,  and  have  had 
days  and  nights  of  talk,  we  never  once  drifted  into 
subjects  on  which  we  should  have  so  widely 
differed,  and  upon  which  I could  not  have  kept 
silence  when  my  heart  was  “hot  within  me.”  But 
I thank  God  that  the  need  of  fighting  for  the  faith 
that  is  in  me  never  arose,  and  I had  hours  of 
supreme  enjoyment  of  his  really  splendid  talk  and 
facile  speech  in  pure  and  eloquent  English. 

He  was  the  object  of  endless  adulation  from 
adulators  of  both  sexes.  I remember  a scene  at 
the  Athenaeum,  where,  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
room  in  which  I was  dining,  I saw  Huxley  and 
a party  of  eminent  scientific  men  seated  at  their 
repast.  The  animated  conversation  was  inter- 


XIII] 


HIS  ADMIRERS 


223 


spersed  with  peals  of  ringing  laughter,  evidently 
raised  by  Huxley’s  wit.  Another  important  scien- 
tist came  bustling  in,  and  failing  to  find  a seat  at 
the  table,  already  crowded,  he  eventually  squatted 
down  on  the  carpet  at  Huxley’s  feet,  where  he 
remained  worshipping  his  idol,  and  joining  in  the 
general  conversation  as  best  he  could  from  his 
lowly  position ! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Subject-painters  — Fashion  in  art — “Chantrey  Bequest” — Hilton’s 
use  of  asphaltum  — Merritt’s  skill  as  a restorer — Introduction  to 
Chantrey — Stothard  as  a designer — George  Jones  and  the  Duke  of 
Wellington — Thomas  Webster  as  a chorister — Technicalities — The 
Duke  at  public  exhibitions — Mr.  Young — Discussion  on  Chinese 
white — Turner’s  views — Frederick  Walker — David  Roberts  and 
French  ultramarine — Turner’s  “Snowdon  Range” — Turner  as  a 
critic. 


IT  is  to  that  immortal  genius,  William  Hogarth, 
the  prince  of  story-tellers  on  canvas,  that  we 
owe  the  origin  of  the  whole  school  of  subject- 
pictures.  He  was  followed  by  David  Wilkie,  by 
Mulready,  Webster,  C.  R.  Leslie,  and  others  up  to 
the  present  time. 

It  is  not  unusual  now  for  the  attendants  at  the 
Royal  Academy  Summer  Exhibition  to  be  asked 
by  visitors,  “What  has  become  of  the  artists  who 
used  to  tell  delightful  stories  in  their  pictures,  and 
paint  beautiful  subjects  from  the  Bible  and  the 


224 


XIV] 


THE  CHANTREY  BEQUEST 


225 


history  of  our  own  dear  country,  and  give  illustra- 
tions of  English  life  ? ” I have  tried,  but  in  vain, 
to  find  out  what  sort  of  replies  were  given  to  these 
questions  of  the  intelligent  persons  above  men- 
tioned. If  the  query  were  put  to  the  picture 
merchants  the  answer  would  be  that  the  modern 
buyer  cares  for  none  of  these  things,  so  that  there 
is  no  market  for  subject-pictures.  The  fashion  in 
these  matters  changes  and  fluctuates  constantly, 
and  the  existence  of  the  “ Chantrey  Bequest,” 
established  by  Sir  Francis  Chantrey,  r.a.,  a popular 
sculptor,  marks  one  period  when  there  seemed  to 
be  absolutely  no  sale  except  for  portraits  and  land- 
scapes, an  unhappy  condition  of  things  that  by 
a coincidence  we  seem  to  have  again  reached  in 
this  year  of  grace  1903,  when  we  might,  indeed, 
welcome  the  advent  of  a like  bequest  to  encourage 
“high  art.”  There  is  no  question  that  the  indigna- 
tion Francis  Chantrey  felt  at  the  neglect  of  Hilton 
was  the  motive  power  which  suggested  the  terms 
of  his  last  will  and  testament  in  relation  to  the 
Royal  Academy. 

This  fine  draughtsman  and  facile  composer 
painted  picture  after  picture  replete  with  dignity 


Q 


226 


ASPHALTUM 


[chap. 


and  purity,  but  he  rarely  found  a purchaser.  He 
had  accepted  the  important  post  of  Keeper  of  the 
Royal  Academy  a few  years  before  I entered  it 
as  a student,  and,  as  I have  mentioned,  was  im- 
mensely popular  in  the  schools.  There  is  a grand 
work  of  his  in  the  Public  Gallery  at  Liverpool — 
a triptych  of  the  crucifixion  of  our  Lord.  I could 
describe  with  pleasure  many  of  his  pictures,  and, 
alas ! such  pen-and-ink  descriptions  are  needful, 
as  owing  to  Hilton’s  use  of  that  pernicious  asphal- 
tum,  and  of  wax  in  the  mixing  of  his  colours — 
two  seductive  but  frequently  fatal  temptations  to 
painters — many  of  his  pictures  are  now  mere  ruins. 
Asphaltum,  really  a preparation  of  pitch,  never  dries 
down  to  the  ground  as  it  should  do,  and  may  be 
started  running  by  atmospheric  conditions  at  any 
time. 

A well-known  artist  named  Inskip,  some  fifty 
years  ago,  sold  to  a friend  of  mine  a picture  of 
an  Italian  brigand  standing  with  his  carbine  held 
at  ‘‘ready,”  and  attired  in  the  usual  cross-gartered 
leggings  and  sandals  of  his  kind.  I saw  that 
picture  last  when  it  had  been  painted  only  a dozen 
years,  but  the  running  process  had  set  in,  and  the 


XIV] 


THE  FATAL  RUNNING 


227 


cross-garters  and  the  sandals  had  slid  to  the  bottom 
of  the  canvas,  and  indeed  had  begun  a voyage  of 
discovery  over  the  frame,  whilst  the  carbine  had 
left  the  brigand’s  hands,  and  was  only  pulled  up 
across  his  leggings  by  some  dry  “ impasto  ” paint- 
ing, over  which  the  sliding  material  could  not  make 
its  way. 

At  Hilton’s  death  the  students  at  the  Royal 
Academy,  who  positively  idolised  him,  had  a meet- 
ing, at  which  we  agreed  to  raise  a subscription  to 
purchase  one  of  his  unsold  pictures,  and  to  present 
it  to  the  National  Gallery  as  a token  of  our  love 
and  admiration  for  the  artist. 

We  bought  one  of  his  last  works,  “ Sir  Calepin 
Rescuing  Serena,”  from  Spenser’s  Faery  Queen , and 
a truly  beautiful  picture  it  was.  Alas  ! that  I must 
use  the  past  tense  in  this  description.  After  eight 
months  of  hanging  on  the  walls  of  the  National 
Gallery  it  showed  signs  of  the  fatal  “ running,”  and 
though  it  was  at  once  removed  to  the  hospital  for 
damaged  works  in  that  institution,  and  the  utmost 
skill  employed  in  its  restoration,  it  turned  out  that 
nothing  short  of  complete  repainting  would  be  of 
any  good,  and  then  it  would  be  impossible  to 


228 


MERRITT  THE  RESTORER 


[chap. 


exhibit  it  as  the  work  of  the  man  we  desired  to 
honour. 

A large  and  very  fine  picture  by  Hilton,  entitled 
“The  Finding  of  the  Dead  Body  of  Harold,”  came 
to  the  National  Gallery  in  the  Vernon  Collection. 
After  a short  time  the  mischief  began,  and  the 
picture  was  handed  over  to  the  care  of  the  best 
restorer  we  have  ever  had  in  England,  the  late 
Mr.  Henry  Merritt.  He  had  profited  greatly  by 
his  association  with  that  accomplished  gentleman 
and  painter,  Sir  Charles  Eastlake,  when  he  was 
director  of  the  National  Gallery. 

Merritt  found  on  careful  inspection  that  there  was 
in  the  asphaltum  a quantity  of  a lightish-brown  sub- 
stance, which  analysis  proved  to  be  mutton  fat ! 
He  was  greatly  astonished,  but  the  artist’s  colour- 
man,  who  was  helping  with  the  experiment,  said 
that  he  knew  Hilton  in  his  time  of  poverty  always 
went  to  the  cheapest  shops  for  his  materials,  and 
that  mutton  fat  was  used  in  the  adulteration  of  wax 
for  the  palette.  So  poor  Hilton’s  limited  means  led 
to  an  irremediable  loss  to  art. 

I will  relate  here  my  own  experience  of  Merritt’s 
skill.  1 painted  an  elaborate  picture  many  years 


XIV] 


HIS  SUCCESS 


229 


ago,  which  was  purchased  by  Mr.  Eden,  one  of  the 
Lancashire  buyers.  Some  time  later  I received  a 
letter  from  Messrs.  Agnew,  saying  that  the  picture 
had  been  consigned  to  them  by  Mr.  Eden,  being 
cracked  all  over,  and  asking  what  were  they  to  do. 
I answered,  “ Send  it  up  to  me.” 

I had  never  seen  a picture  of  mine  with  a crack 
in  it  before,  and  was  curious  as  to  the  cause.  It 
came,  and  was  a sight  to  behold,  with  cracks  like 
stars  radiating  all  over  it.  I was  inspired  imme- 
diately to  write  to  Mr.  Eden,  and  to  ask  him  what 
he  had  had  done  to  the  picture.  The  answer  came 
that  he  was  ashamed  to  confess  that,  thinking  the 
picture  wanted  varnishing,  he  had  consigned  it  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  a neighbouring  coachbuilder, 
who  had  evidently  given  it  a strong  coat  of  carriage 
varnish ! 

I then  wrote  to  Merritt,  who  carefully  exam- 
ined the  picture  and  the  cracks,  which  he  agreed 
with  me  were  the  result  of  the  coachbuilder’s  drastic 
treatment.  He  knew  my  mode  of  painting,  and 
was  sanguine  the  varnish  could  be  removed,  but 
thought  it  would  be  a work  of  time.  In  about 
a month  he  brought  back  the  picture,  so  nearly 


230  INTRODUCTION  TO  CHANTREY  [chap. 


restored,  that  it  only  took  a morning’s  work  to  re- 
paint the  parts  where  the  removal  of  the  varnish 
had  literally  dragged  off  the  colour.  Poor  Merritt’s 
finger-tips,  which  had  done  the  whole  work  of  re- 
moval, were  absolutely  flayed  by  the  hard  and 
tenacious  varnish. 

I mentioned  Chantrey  just  now,  so  I may  as 
well  here  relate  a brief  story  about  him  in  this 
chapter,  which  is,  I fear,  already  rambling  and 
discursive. 

A delightful  old  family  friend,  who  was  very 
intimate  with  Chantrey,  volunteered  to  take  me  to 
see  him  and  his  workshops.  He  was  a friend  of 
my  father’s  and  occasionally  dined  here,  but  difficult 
of  approach  and  eccentric  ; he  has  been  known  to 
go  up  to  a long-haired  man,  for  instance — long  hair 
being  his  special  aversion— and  to  offer  him  a shil- 
ling, saying,  “Do,  my  good  fellow,  go  and  get  your 
hair  cut ! ” More  than  once  he  narrowly  escaped 
getting  his  head  well  punched  for  his  impertinence. 

We  walked  through  workshop  after  workshop 
containing  statues,  some  of  enormous  size,  in  the 
process  of  casting,  everything  pointing  to  the  master 
being  full  of  commissions.  We  found  him  in  a quiet 


XIV] 


BUST  OF  GEORGE  III. 


231 


corner,  doing  a little  sketch  model,  not  more  than 
eight  or  nine  inches  high,  for  some  public  statue, 
and  he  was  in  a decidedly  grumpy  mood ; when  he 
became  more  amiable,  Mr.  Allen  made  me  known 
to  him. 

“ What  are  you  doin’  ? Fiddlin’,  singin’  ? ” (in 
reference  to  my  father’s  profession).  “No,  sir, 
drawing,  trying  to  be  a painter.”  “God  help  you, 
go  and  get  someone  to  pity  you,  then.” 

Chantrey  was  most  skilful  in  his  manipulation  of 
the  chisel,  and  great  as  a maker  of  portrait  busts. 
One  remarkable  effort  of  his  genius  is  a bust  of 
George  III.,  executed  during  the  period  of  the 
king’s  mental  affliction,  which  bears  so  plainly  the 
impress  of  his  unhappy  condition  that  it  is  a very 
painful  sight.  When  I saw  it  it  was  the  property 
of  Mr.  Adams-Acton,  the  well-known  sculptor, 
and  he  had  found  it  in  a furniture  shop  near 
Portman  Square.  It  would  be  interesting  to  trace 
its  history. 

Perhaps  it  is  not  generally  known  how  much 
Chantrey  was  assisted  in  his  designs  by  Stothard, 
who  was  his  right  hand,  and  who  inspired  and 
grouped  some  of  his  best  work,  as,  for  instance, 


232 


STOTHARD 


[chap. 


the  beautiful  “ Sleeping  Children”  in  Lichfield 
Cathedral. 

When  I entered  the  Academy,  Stothard  was  the 
librarian.  His  beautiful  and  venerable  person  was 
therefore  a familiar  sight.  He  used  to  stand  in  a 
recessed  window  of  Somerset  House,  and  work  at 
his  charming  designs  for  book  illustrations  in  water- 
colour, working  entirely  without  models.  He  was 
also  a familiar  figure  in  the  then  truly  countrified 
neighbourhood  of  Hampstead  and  Highgate.  He 
carried  a red  note-book,  in  appearance  such  as  a tax- 
gatherer  might  use,  and  had  an  ink-bottle  tied  to 
his  buttonhole,  and  with  a pen  he  would  draw  any 
spray  of  leaves  or  flowers,  or  rural  scene  that  struck 
his  fancy,  sitting  down  in  a ditch  or  any  equally 
convenient  spot. 

When  dear  old  Stothard  was  taken  to  his  rest,  a 
very  different  figure  filled  his  office  of  librarian. 
This  was  Mr.  George  Jones,  r.a.  He  had  acquired 
a very  special  reputation  for  himself.  Having  no 
doubt  some  natural  resemblance  to  the  great  Duke 
of  Wellington,  the  best-known  personage  in  London, 
he  had  by  careful  imitation  of  his  dress,  attitudes, 
and  manner  of  sitting  his  horse,  attained  to  such  a 


XIV] 


THE  DUKE  AND  MR.  JONES 


233 


verisimilitude  that  he  was — -to  his  no  doubt  intense 
satisfaction — pretty  often  taken  for  him,  and  saluted 
by  sentries,  soldiers,  and  civilians.  The  Duke 
heard  from  an  acquaintance  that  the  worthy  Mr. 
George  Jones  was  constantly  taken  for  him,  and 
caustically  remarked,  “ Really,  nobody  ever  takes 
me  for  Mr.  Jones.” 

The  Iron  Duke  bestowed  much  time  and  atten- 
tion on  art  exhibitions  associated  with  the  Govern- 
ment ; this  was  especially  noticeable  when  Her 
Majesty’s  Commissioners  of  the  Fine  Arts  organ- 
ised their  competitive  exhibitions  in  Westminster 
Hall. 

Well  do  I remember  the  private  view  day  of  the 
competition  in  oil  paintings.  I had  been  fortunate 
in  obtaining  the  prize  for  the  picture  of  Prince  Hal. 
The  Duke,  detained  by  his  multifarious  public 
business,  did  not  arrive  early,  as  was  his  wont, 
but  came  somewhat  late  in  the  afternoon.  Web- 
ster and  I saw  him  arrive,  and  being  anxious  to 
see  what  impression  the  various  pictures  hanging 
on  the  walls  portraying  scenes  in  the  Battle  of 
Waterloo  would  make  upon  him,  we  determined 
to  keep  him  in  sight.  To  our  dismay,  we  found 


234 


A FUTILE  QUESTION 


[CHAP. 


that  many  other  of  the  visitors  had  been  inspired 
with  the  same  curiosity,  for  there  was  quite  a 
small  crowd  by  the  rail  in  front  of  the  pictures. 
When  the  Duke  approached  he  was  accompanied 
by  various  ladies  of  rank  whom  he  had  encountered 
in  the  hall,  some  of  whom  had  sprightly  daughters, 
who  were  plying  His  Grace  with  all  kinds  of 
questions.  One  of  them  came  rushing  up,  ex- 
claiming, “Now,  Duke,  do  tell  us,  is  that  picture 
really  like  the  Battle  of  Waterloo  ?”  To  this  query 
he  replied,  “ My  dear  young  lady,  that  is  a most 
difficult  question  to  answer,  so  I will  not  attempt  it.” 
There  was  so  much  quiet  decision  in  his  manner 
that  no  further  questions  were  asked,  and  the  young 
lady  retreated,  slightly  abashed.  As  His  Grace 
turned  to  proceed  in  his  examination  of  the  pictures, 
he  became  for  the  first  time  aware  of  the  crowd 
ranged  along  the  rail,  with  their  eyes  eagerly  fixed 
upon  himself.  His  own  eyes  and  stern  brows  at 
once  showed  considerable  annoyance,  and  an  ex- 
pression of  contempt  for  his  admirers — with  an 
apparent  desire  to  express  his  feelings  in  strong 
language. 


XIV] 


WEBSTER  AS  CHORISTER 


235 


Thomas  Webster,  my  old  friend,  and  my  neigh- 
bour both  in  Kensington  and  in  Kent,  was  most 
deservedly  popular  for  his  admirable  paintings  of 
scenes  from  humble  life.  He  delighted  specially 
in  painting  children,  and  excelled  in  his  delineations 
of  boyish  pranks. 

His  own  boyhood  was  passed  in  Windsor  Castle, 
as  his  father  held  a position  in  the  household  of 
George  III.,  and  was  housed  in  the  castle  with 
his  family. 

He  used  to  relate  amusing  stories  of  Court  life 
during  the  last  years  of  George  III.,  and  up  to  the 
accession  of  the  best  of  all  crowned  heads  in  any 
history,  the  great  and  good  Queen  Victoria.  I may 
recall  one.  Tom  Webster  was  a chorister  in  the 
Royal  Chapel,  and  there  he  once  heard  the  follow- 
ing duologue  chanted  during  the  Psalms  for  the 
day  : — 

Basso  prof  undo:  “I  have  got — a leg  of  mut — ton 
for  dinner,  will  you  dine — with  me — at  six?” 

Alto:  “Yes,  I shall  be — very  hap — py — I will  be 
— with  you — by  six  ! ” 

Later  on  Webster  officiated  as  page  to  the  young 
Princesses.  George  IV.  had  received  a present  of  a 


236 


THE  GIRAFFE’S  PORTRAIT 


[CHAP. 


giraffe  from  some  foreign  potentate.  He  was  greatly 
pleased  with  it,  and  ordered  its  portrait  to  be  painted 
by  Mr.  Davis,  a clever  animal  painter  of  the  day, 
brother  of  the  well-known  Royal  Huntsman.  When 
the  picture  was  painted  it  was  taken  to  the  King, 
who  sent  for  the  Marchioness  of  C.,  whose  opinion 
was  taken  on  all  points  of  interest  to  the  King. 

Webster,  in  his  capacity  of  page,  was  about  to 
open  the  door  for  her  when  she  paused,  and  turning 
to  the  equerry,  asked  in  a subdued  voice:  “Am  I to 
admire  it?”  to  which  the  answer  was:  ‘‘Certainly, 
certainly,  His  Majesty  is  delighted.”  The  Mar- 
chioness bustled  in,  and  confronted  with  the  picture, 
burst  forth  in  a rhapsody  of  admiration,  “ Lovely ! 
exquisite ! ” and  so  forth,  in  the  midst  of  which  the 
door  closed. 

Tom  Webster  and  I were  fast  friends  till  his 
death,  and  we  had  but  one  cause  of  difference 
during  many  years  of  intimacy,  which  difference 
arose  from  his  being  born  and  bred  in  an  atmo- 
sphere of  Toryism,  whilst  I from  the  age  of  intelli- 
gent boyhood  had  been  in  the  companionship  of 
advanced  Liberals.  I must  except  my  dear  and 
honoured  father,  who  was  a follower  of  “ Church 


XIV] 


LANDSEER'S  WATERLOO 


237 


and  King.”  He  would  sit  at  his  hospitable 
dinner-table,  with  a bland  smile  on  his  benevolent 
countenance,  listening  to  vehement  discussions  on 
political  questions  in  those  times  of  reform,  and 
it  was  his  habit,  which  became  a sort  of  signal,  to 
wind  up  his  watch  in  a very  ostensible  fashion  when 
he  thought  we  were  perhaps  getting  too  heated  in 
argument. 

The  striking  person  of  the  great  Duke  on  horse- 
back, followed  by  his  old  military  groom,  were 
well-known  figures  in  Kensington.  In  Sir  Edwin 
Landseer’s  admirable  picture  of  the  Duke  visiting 
the  Field  of  Waterloo,  accompanied  by  his  daughter- 
in-law,  the  Marchioness  of  Douro,  and  explaining  to 
her  some  leading  features  of  the  battle  (an  incident 
which  I believe  never  did  take  place,  but  which 
might  be  fairly  imagined  with  artistic  licence,  from 
the  Duke’s  well-known  attachment  to  his  daughter- 
in-law),  the  likeness  of  the  Duke  is  admirable, 
giving  exactly  his  seat  on  a horse,  and  every  line 
of  his  figure,  and  so  is  that  of  his  faithful  groom  in 
the  background,  who  is  being  pestered  by  Belgian 
peasants  to  purchase  some  so-called  Waterloo  relics. 
I have,  however,  understood  that  the  head  of  the 


238 


FORTY  SITTINGS 


[CHAP. 


Marchioness  of  Douro  is  very  unsatisfactory  as  a 
likeness.  The  fact  is  that  it  was  chiefly  painted 
from  a model,  who  was  about  the  same  time  sitting 
to  me,  and  who  was  considered  closely  to  resemble 
the  Marchioness. 

The  model  gave  me  a very  interesting  account  of 
the  trouble  Landseer  took  with  this  head  and  face, 
and  said  that  she  had  sat  at  least  forty  times  for  it,  and 
that  at  each  sitting  she  found  that  Landseer  had  al- 
most completely  effaced  what  he  had  done  before.  He 
was  a firm  believer  in  the  virtue  of  painting  straight 
off,  and  no  doubt  he  could  do  wonders  in  that  way, 
as  witness  Mr.  Wells’s  dog.  For  another  instance, 
my  uncle,  Sir  Augustus  Callcott,  who  had  a very 
handsome  and  interesting  head,  sat  to  him  (in  the 
picture  of  Bolton  Abbey)  for  a study  of  the  monk 
who  is  receiving  at  the  abbey  gate  the  offerings  of 
fish  and  game,  sent  by  some  neighbouring  knight 
or  squire  for  acceptance  at  the  abbey.  The  study 
was  made  in  oil,  nearly  the  size  of  life,  and  this 
was  painted  al  prima  and  exquisitely  finished  in 
a sitting  of  three  or  four  hours. 

I am  tempted  to  put  in  here  a few  words  on  the 
technique  of  painting  in  oil  colour,  which  may  be 


XIV]  THE  TECHNIQUE  OF  PAINTING  239 


of  some  interest  to  amateurs.  With  my  convictions, 
and  I have  lived  and  worked  hard  enough  to 
possess  some  {for  on  the  29th  of  January  last  I 
entered  on  my  87th  year),  painting  in  oil  may 
be  divided  into  two  distinct  systems,  painting 
al  prima ; or,  by  well-considered  preparations, 
when  the  theory  of  chromatic  equivalents  comes 
into  play.  To  explain  the  point  further:  blue, 
yellow,  and  red  being  recognised  as  primary  colours, 
the  complementary  colours  to  each  are  found  in  the 
admixture  of  the  remaining  two — of  blue,  orange — 
of  red,  green — of  yellow,  violet.  In  some  German 
art  schools  the  students  are  instructed  to  carry  out 
the  colouring  of  their  studies  from  the  life  with  pale 
green  in  the  shadows  of  the  light  flesh  tints.  We 
may  see  this  in  our  National  Gallery  in  one  or  two 
early  unfinished  Italian  works. 

Monochrome  painting  in  the  commencement  of 
a work  is,  I imagine,  the  ordinary  practice  of 
painters,  and  the  carrying  further  the  use  of  comple- 
mentary colours  must  be  determined  by  the  taste 
and  feeling  of  the  individual  painter. 

Our  own  Sir  Joshua  made  every  use  of  light  and 
white  preparations  in  flesh  painting,  sometimes 


240 


ART  DISCUSSIONS 


[chap. 


making  in  portraiture  a beautifully  finished  com- 
mencement of  a portrait  in  black  and  white,  with 
a slight  addition  of  Indian  red  in  the  shadows. 
Lord  Bathurst,  at  Cirencester,  has  a beautiful  kit- 
cat  oval  portrait  of  a young  man  of  the  Bathurst 
family,  quite  exquisitely  drawn  and  painted  in  these 
simple  materials,  and  only  lacking  the  golden  tones 
of  Reynolds’s  palette,  which  were  either  never  given 
by  the  master,  or  have  been  swept  off  by  the  ruth- 
less hands  of  a grossly  ignorant  restorer. 

In  Turner’s  day  there  was  a Scotch  gentleman 
named  Young  residing  in  London,  who  delighted 
in  British  art  and  artists,  especially  in  assembling 
the  latter  at  his  hospitable  board  and  hearing  them 
discuss  questions  connected  with  their  calling. 

On  one  occasion,  when  the  following  well-known 
artists,  Turner,  D.  Roberts,  F.  Tayler,  J.  D.  Hard- 
ing, J.  Linnell,  and  others  were  gathered  together, 
a lively  discussion  arose  as  to  the  desirability  of 
using  “ permanent  white  ” in  the  execution  of  water- 
colour drawings,  and  the  two  really  great  artists 
present,  Turner  (omnipotent,  and  standing  com- 
pletely alone)  and  Linnell,  inveighed  warmly 


xiv] 


241 


44 PERMANENT  WHITE ” 

against  its  use  in  any  way  either  as  a compensation 
for  leaving  the  pure  white  paper  for  lights  and 
delicately  toning  it  with  transparent  colour  where 
required,  or  for  washing  or  scraping  out  the  spaces 
devoted  to  the  light  portions  of  the  subject. 
Turner  was  generally  a reticent  talker,  but  on  this 
occasion  he  wound  up  a strong  speech  by  shaking 
his  fist  at  Harding,  Roberts,  and  some  others,  who 
were  supporting  feebly  the  convenience  of  the 
vulgarising  material  in  question,  and  saying  quite 
fiercely,  “If  you  fellows  continue  to  use  that 
beastly  stuff  you  will  destroy  the  art  of  water- 
colour painting  in  our  country.” 

A few  days  after  this,  when  that  admirable  artist, 
Frederick  Walker,  called  upon  me  to  acknowledge 
his  election  as  A.R.A.,  it  was  a day  of  thick  dark- 
ness with  black  London  fog,  and  as  we  agreed  that 
painting  was  impossible,  I proposed  that  we  should 
sit  by  my  painting-room  fire  and  talk  about  art,  and 
painting  in  particular.  Then  I recounted  to  Walker 
all  that  had  passed  with  Turner,  and  the  discussion 
about  “permanent  white,”  and  he  was  evidently 
deeply  impressed  by  the  “omnipotent’s”  dictum. 
I ventured  to  say  to  Walker  that  the  thought  of 


242 


FREDERICK  WALKER 


[chap. 


him  and  his  work  had  been  curiously  present  with 
me  during  the  vivacious  discussion  at  Youngs. 
No  one  could  possibly  admire  Walker’s  art  more 
than  I do,  but  I had  observed  for  some  time  with 
much  true  regret  a growing  indication  of  relying 
too  much  upon  the  “convenience”  of  “permanent 
white,”  and  this  had  been  recently  shown  in  a more 
marked  degree  than  usual  in  his  most  beautiful 
drawing  of  “Geese  driven  through  the  street  of 
Cookham,  on  the  Thames.”  If  the  whiteness  of 
the  flock  had  been  rendered  by  leaving  the  paper 
to  tell  its  story  instead  of  plastering  on  Chinese 
white,  the  beauty  of  his  work  would,  to  my  mind, 
have  been  tenfold  enhanced. 

Walker’s  early  death  was  a grievous  loss  to  the 
art  world. 

H ow  well  do  I remember  seeing  that  beautiful 
work,  “The  Ferry-boat  at  Marlow,”  for  the  first 
time.  I was  on  my  way  to  a council  meeting  at 
the  Academy,  and  turned  into  the  old  water-colour 
rooms,  to  see  one  of  their  exhibitions  then  open. 
I was  held  fast  for  some  time  by  the  fascination  of 
this  picture  of  Walker’s. 

It  is  a perfect  rendering  of  that  quiet  and  gentle 


xiv] 


THE  FERRYBOAT 


243 


scene,  which  had  often  impressed  me  in  nature. 
On  inquiring  the  price  of  the  drawing  I found  it 
was  ^300.  I was  greatly  tempted  to  buy  it,  and 
refrained  purely  from  motives  of  economy ; but 
even  in  that  respect  it  would  have  been  a very  safe 
investment,  for  in  less  than  a year’s  time  it  was  sold 
at  Christie’s  for  over  1,000. 

The  first  colleague  I met  at  the  Academy  was 
Millais,  to  whom  I expressed  very  warmly  my 
admiration  for  the  picture,  and  further  urged  him 
to  possess  himself  of  such  a treasure.  His  answer 
was,  “Ah,  my  boy,  that’s  all  very  well;  I admire 
Walker’s  work  as  much  as  you  do,  but  you  can’t 
imagine  the  incessant  tugs  that  my  purse-strings 
are  subject  to,  and  I find  it  only  prudent  to  shun 
the  regions  of  temptation.” 

To  return  to  Turner  and  the  use  of  “permanent 
white,”  I may  perhaps  be  charged  with  “ flogging  a 
dead  horse  ” by  this  attack,  as  I understand  that  the 
use  of  the  flagrant  material  is  limited  much  more 
strictly  now  to  its  legitimate  use  on  tinted  paper, 
with  which  combination  as  we  know  Turner  himself 
produced  most  beautiful  effects. 

However,  Frederick  Walker  was  much  impressed 


244 


ULTRAMARINE 


[chap. 


by  my  account  of  Turners  view,  and  told  me  he  had 
mentally  registered  a vow  as  I spoke  to  begin  a 
water-colour  in  which  not  one  touch  of  Chinese 
white  should  be  used. 

At  another  somewhat  similar  discussion  on 
pigments  at  which  I was  present,  the  rival 
merits  of  real  ultramarine  and  French  ultramarine 
were  argued.  David  Roberts,  r.a.,  a portly  and 
complacent  personage,  was  laying  down  the  law, 
with  much  satisfaction  to  himself,  in  favour  of  the 
latter,  while  the  opposite  opinion  was  warmly 
taken  by  Linnell,  who  had  a little  wizened  face  and 
figure,  and  who  spent  neither  time  nor  money  on 
his  toilette,  thus  offering  in  all  ways  a quaint 
contrast  to  his  antagonist.  After  Roberts  had 
exhausted  his  arguments  to  prove  that  there  was 
no  occasion  now  for  people  to  give  untold  sums  for 
real  ultramarine,  when  a colour  like  the  French 
imitation  would  answer  every  purpose,  for,  as  he 
loudly  wound  up,  “ it  has  borne  every  test,”  then 
up  chirped  Linnell  in  his  little  voice — 

“ No,  sir,  there  is  one  test  it  never  has  borne,  and 
never  will  bear,  it  won’t  bear  being  looked  at ! ” 

A loud  cheer  from  some  appreciative  painters 


XIV] 


“THE  SNOWDON  RANGE ” 245 

present  followed  this  clever  retort,  and  friend 
Roberts  collapsed  for  the  time. 

Turner  was  endless  in  his  artistic  resources.  At 
one  time  I studied  almost  daily  one  of  his  finest 
water-colours,  called,  I think,  “ The  Snowdon 
Range,”  which  was  a marvel  from  end  to  end,  so 
exquisitely  beautiful  in  itself  and  perfect  in  its 
executive  power.  The  theme  was  the  combination 
of  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  and  a moonrise. 
There  was  one  passage  that  I feasted  upon  again 
and  again.  It  was  the  tender  warmth  of  the  light 
clouds  encircling  the  moon,  and  I tried  all  kinds  of 
glasses  to  see  if  I could  learn  how  it  was  done,  but 
failed  to  satisfy  myself.  Just  at  that  time  the 

drawing  began  “ to  buckle  ” from  its  mount,  and  I 
discussed  many  times  with  its  owner,  the  present 
Sir  Seymour  Haden,  my  brother-in-law,  the  doctor 
and  admirable  etcher,  what  measures  should  be 
taken  respecting  this  unpleasing  development.  At 
that  time  we  had  in  London  a supremely  able 
mounter  of  drawings  of  the  name  of  Hogarth, 
whose  advice  it  was  determined  to  ask. 

We  showed  the  drawing  to  him,  and  he  said  it 
must  be  taken  off  the  old  mount  and  remounted. 


246 


TURNER’S  INGENUITY 


[chap. 


Haden  said,  “ But  how  do  you  get  it  off?”  And  I 
shall  not  forget  the  horror  of  his  look  when  Hogarth 
answered,  “Well,  sir,  we  must  put  it  in  a bath.” 
However,  after  much  persuasion,  Haden  agreed  to 
trust  the  drawing  to  his  care.  To  his  great  alarm 
he  received  a note  very  shortly,  begging  him  to  call 
without  delay.  He  did  so,  and  rushed  into  Hogarth’s 
shop  exclaiming,  “What  is  it,  what  is  it!  Have 
you  spoilt  the  drawing?”  “No,  no,  sir,  we  have 
got  it  off  beautifully,  but  having  so  often  heard 
Mr.  Horsley  speak  of  the  rosy  tint  round  the  moon, 
I thought  you  would  be  interested  to  know  that  I 
have  discovered  how  it  was  obtained ! ” He 
produced  the  drawing,  and  turned  it  on  its  face. 
There  was  a revelation ! A circle  of  orange  ver- 
milion had  been  plastered  on  the  back  with  an  ivory 
palette  knife  where  he  wanted  the  effect,  and  then 
worked  sufficiently  far  through  the  pores  of  the 
previously  wetted  paper  to  give  the  show  of  colour, 
while  retaining  the  smooth  surface  without  a trace 
of  workmanship  on  the  right  side. 

Callcott  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  Turner’s 
work,  and  never  permitted  criticism  of  the  great 
man’s  eccentricities.  In  a little  note-book  of  his, 


XIV] 


TURNER  AS  CRITIC 


247 


written  when  he  was  young  and  with  little  cash  to 
spare,  he  speaks  of  having  seen  a beautiful  drawing 
of  Turners  for  sale  at  some  frame-makers  in  St. 
Martins  Lane.  He  could  not  afford  to  buy  it,  the 
price  being  ten  shillings ! so  he  used  to  go  to  the 
shop  as  often  as  three  times  a week  to  feast  his  eyes 
on  it,  dreading  each  time  that  the  drawing  might 
have  gone. 

Turner  was  not  a savage  critic.  In  going  round 
the  Royal  Academy  he  never  made  any  severe 
remarks,  but  his  favourite  method  of  calling  atten- 
tion to  any  specially  bad  work  was  to  put  his  thumb 
upon  it,  and  say,  “ That’s  a poor  bit,  isn’t  it  ? ” 

Creswick,  the  clever  landscape  painter,  once 
painted  a large  picture  of  a village  street  with  land- 
scape beyond,  over  which  a thunderstorm  was  about 
to  break.  Ansdell,  the  animal  painter,  put  in  for 
him  a figure  on  horseback,  galloping  away  from  the 
village  into  the  thick  of  the  storm.  Creswick  on  one 
of  the  varnishing  days  at  the  R.A.,  asked  Turner 
to  tell  him  of  anything  that  struck  him  as  wrong. 

“Well,”  said  the  great  man  without  hesitation, 
‘‘your  horseman  is  riding  the  wrong  way ! ” and 
walked  off,  leaving  Creswick  quite  overwhelmed,  for 


248 


TURNER  AT  WORK 


[chap.  XIV 


he  very  probably  did  not  see  the  striking  force  of  the 
criticism,  which  Turner  did  not  trouble  to  explain. 

Among  the  wonderful  water-colours  painted  by 
Turner,  and  exhibited  at  the  Royal  Academy,  was 
one  of  a man-of-war,  in  what  is  called,  technically, 
“ rapid  perspective.”  It  was  done  at  one  sitting,  in 
response  to  a petition  from  a child  staying  at 
Farnley,  who  asked  for  a picture  of  a man-of-war. 

The  child  stood  by  him,  and  he  proceeded  to  put 
in  all  the  details  with  explanatory  comments : 
“This  is  the  body  of  the  ship.  Now  come  the 
masts — here  go  the  guns  ! ” 

What  evidently  most  impressed  the  child  was  the 
extraordinary  rapidity,  and  the  way  in  which,  as  he 
said,  he  “made  the  paper  bubble.” 

It  was  Turner’s  habit  to  keep  the  paper  always 
in  a fluent  condition  of  moisture.  It  is  most  notice- 
able that  in  whatever  stage  his  drawing  might  be 
left,  it  was  always  beautiful.  This  is  very  plainly 
seen  by  looking  at  his  unfinished  sketches ; these 
are  in  all  stages,  and  every  one  of  them  is  interest- 
ing. An  amateur  lady  artist  tried  to  get  some 
criticisms  out  of  him  on  a drawing.  “ Put  it  in  the 
water-jug,  my  dear,”  was  his  sole  answer. 


CHAPTER  XV 


Cartoons — Notice  to  artists — Charcoal  drawings— Munich  School — 
Cornelius  as  a critic  of  the  amateur — “Wrinkles” — Competi- 
tion awards  — Poet’s  Hall — Macaulay  intervenes  — Picture  of 
Henry  V.  as  Prince  of  Wales. 

TO  Sir  Benjamin  Hawes,  of  whom  l have 
already  often  spoken,  was,  I believe,  due  the 
appointment  by  the  Government  of  a Royal  Com- 
mission of  Fine  Arts,  for  the  due  decoration  of  the 
new  Houses  of  Parliament.  His  Royal  Highness 
the  Prince  Consort  accepted  the  office  of  President 
of  the  Commission,  and  Sir  C.  L.  Eastlake,  p.r.a., 
was  appointed  its  secretary.  No  better  selection 
could  possibly  have  been  made  for  these  important 
offices. 

The  issue  in  1843  of  the  notices  to  artists,  to  send 
in  for  competition  models  and  designs  at  specified 
dates  in  sculpture,  stained  glass,  carved  wood,  car- 
toons for  frescoes,  arabesque  and  heraldic  paintings 


249 


250 


CARTOONS 


[chap. 


and  ornamental  metal  work,  created  a great  stir  in 
art  circles. 

As  was  natural,  my  intimate  acquaintance  with 
Sir  Benjamin  Hawes  made  me  especially  interested 
in  the  whole  subject,  and  also  I had  long  been  con- 
sumed with  anxiety  to  try  my  hand  in  the  highest 
branch  of  my  art,  and  this  seemed  a glorious 
opportunity. 

But  the  tackling  of  a charcoal  drawing  on  the 
prescribed  scale  was  a serious  undertaking.  The 
only  work  that  had  been  done  in  modern  times 
on  this  scale  was  by  the  Munich  school,  and  we 
gladly  consulted  our  travelled  colleagues,  from 
whom  we  derived  a good  deal  of  interesting  and 
useful  information,  but  none  of  them  had  at  that 
time  actually  practised  the  use  of  buonfresco , as  the 
old  Italian  painters  called  it  : it  was  called  good 
fresco  to  distinguish  it  from  all  other  modes  of 
Munich  decoration. 

We  found  that  the  large  cartoons  made  for  their 
frescoes  by  Cornelius,  Schnorr,  Hesse,  and  others 
were  simply  done  on  paper  fastened  to  a slight 
framework  of  wood.  The  capabilities  of  this 
arrangement  were  most  amusingly  illustrated  by  the 


xv] 


THE  AMATEUR 


251 


following  story,  which  was  told  us  by  a dear  old 
Norwegian  artist,  Fearnley  by  name,  who  was 
present  on  the  occasion  he  referred  to. 

The  confidence  of  the  art  amateur  is  well 
known,  and  one  of  that  body  being  highly  ex- 
cited by  the  works  of  the  aforesaid  cartoonists 
— all  distinguished  artists  of  the  Munich  school 
— was  determined  to  show  them  the  exact  way 
and  style  in  which  the  thing  ought  to  be  done. 
When  his  great  work  was  completed,  he,  being 
a man  of  means,  invited  all  the  notabilities  in  con- 
nection with  art  at  Munich  to  come  to  breakfast 
one  morning  and  inspect  the  result  of  his  arduous 
labours.  When  the  guests  arrived  they  found  he 
had  had  the  courage  to  take  his  masterpiece  out  of 
the  studio  and  to  place  it  in  the  garden.  There  he 
had  stuck  up  a cartoon  of  at  least  twenty  feet  in 
length  by  fifteen  in  height,  and  had  arranged  in 
front  of  it  an  amphitheatre  of  chairs  for  the  guests. 
He  took  care,  however,  that  the  picture  should  not 
be  seen  till  the  conclusion  of  a very  elaborate 
dljeuner  a la  fourchette , with  plenty  of  good  Hoch- 
heimer  to  enliven  it. 

When  the  moment  came,  the  guests,  led  by  their 


252 


CORNELIUS’S  CHARGE 


[CHAP. 


host,  marched  into  the  garden  to  the  improvised 
amphitheatre,  where  Cornelius  was  placed  in  a 
stately  central  armchair.  Of  course,  every  one 
waited  for  the  great  man  to  open  his  mouth.  The 
sun  was  blazing  on  the  picture,  and  Cornelius  rose, 
open  umbrella  in  hand,  and  pipe  in  mouth,  in 
absolute  silence,  staring  at  an  artistic  performance, 
too  bad  for  words . 

The  tension  was  becoming  painful,  the  artist  was 
jumping  about  explaining  the  points  of  the  design, 
the  perspiration  rolling  down  his  face,  what  with  the 
heat  of  the  sun  and  the  excitement  of  the  moment, 
heightened  by  the  melancholy  fact  that  not  a solitary 
word  of  praise  or  satisfaction  came  from  the  invited 
guests. 

But  every  eye  was  upon  Cornelius,  then  recog- 
nised as  the  leader  of  the  art  movement  in  Germany, 
who  at  last  lowered  his  umbrella  with  the  utmost 
deliberation,  rolled  it  up,  buttoned  it,  brought  it 
down  to  his  hip  as  if  it  were  a musket,  and  with  a 
pas  de  charge  made  for  the  cartoon,  through  which 
he  burst  and  disappeared,  and  was  seen  no  more 
that  day.  One  after  another  the  assembled  guests 
rose,  charged,  and  disappeared.  The  artist  was  left 


xv] 


WRINKLES  AND  TIPS 


253 


alone,  or  almost  alone.  He  gazed  at  the  awful  hole, 
with  its  jagged  and  fluttering  edges,  through  which 
his  friends  had  vanished.  He  advanced,  took  his 
hat  off,  bowed  to  a few  lingerers,  pulled  his  hat  over 
his  brows,  and  himself  went  through  the  hole,  amid 
the  uproarious  applause  of  all  who  remained  near 
enough  to  the  scene  of  action,  thus,  with  infinite 
humour  and  good  temper,  putting  the  seal  of  his 
approval  on  the  severe  judgment  of  his  artist 
friends ! 

From  this  story  we  learned  to  have  our  paper 
carefully  stretched  on  a canvas  backing. 

Another  wrinkle  we  obtained  was  in  “fixing  ” the 
charcoal  drawings.  The  Germans  had  contrived 
what,  I think,  was  called  a fixing -kettle,  which 
looked  like  a cross  between  a steam-kettle  and  a 
watering-pot,  with  a lamp  below  to  keep  it  on  the 
boil. 

We  in  England  could  give  the  Munich  school 
and  German  draughtsmen  generally,  a few  “ tips,” 
amongst  them  were  the  cutting  of  the  charcoal  itself 
into  a weapon  like  a chisel,  and  using  its  corners  or 
the  broad  end  of  it  at  will,  and  the  employment  of  a 
small  bellows  to  reduce  any  over-blackness,  while 


254 


PRIZE  AWARDS 


[chap. 


brushes  were  used  to  get  the  requisite  smoothness 
of  surface.  Then  we  could  set  the  drawings  and 
work  on  them  again. 

The  execution  of  the  subject  I chose  was  one  of 
the  most  delightful  experiences  in  my  artistic  life. 

At  this  point  it  would  be  interesting  to  copy  some 
of  the  awards  in  cartoon  drawing,  viz.  : — 

Premiums  of  ^300. 

“ Caesar’s  First  Invasion  of 

Britain”  . . . Edward  Armitage. 

“ Caractacus  led  in  triumph 

through  the  streets  of  Rome”  Geo.  Frederick  Watts. 

“ First  Trial  by  Jury  ” . . Charles  West  Cope. 

Premium  of  £200. 

“ St.  Augustine  preaching  to 
Ethelbert  and  Bertha,  his 

Christian  Queen”  . . John  Callcott  Horsley. 

There  was  a third  class  with  prizes  of  ^100, 
which  were  awarded  to  W.  E.  Frost,  E.  T.  Parris, 
H.  C.  Selous,  John  Bridges,  and  Joseph  Severn. 

After  the  exhibition  of  charcoal  cartoons  in 
Westminster  Hall,  which  was  a sort  of  preliminary 
canter  to  test  the  capabilities  of  the  competitors, 
who  were  to  carry  out  the  mural  decorations  of  the 
Houses  of  Parliament,  there  was  another  exhibition 


RELIGION 

SKETCH  FOR  A FRESCO  IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  LORDS 

To  face  page  254 


xv] 


THE  POETS’  HALL 


255 


of  trial  frescoes,  to  prove  our  powers  of  using  that 
difficult  medium.  For  this  fresco  I chose  a part  of 
the  design  which  had  been  approved  by  the  Royal 
Commission  for  one  of  the  frescoes  in  the  House  of 
Lords.  The  theme  was  “ Abstract  Religion/’  or 
the  abasement  of  all  earthly  power  in  the  sight  of 
God. 

The  Poets’  Hall  was  to  be  decorated  with  frescoes 
from  Shakespeare,  Milton,  and  Spenser.  I was  to 
take  my  subject  from  Milton,  and  deeply  meditating 
I said,  “ Why  may  I not  have  a composition  in- 
cluding the  Allegro  and  Penseroso  ?”  both  the  major 
and  the  minor  keys  of  poetry.  This  I carried  out, 
and  the  design  was  most  warmly  approved  by  the 
Commission,  and  highly  commended  by  the  Prince 
Consort,  who  wished  the  work  to  be  at  once  put 
into  execution. 

About  a fortnight  later  1 received  a letter  from 
Eastlake,  announcing  with  the  utmost  regret  a 
proposed  change  of  front  in  regard  to  the  subject  of 
the  fresco,  which  change  had  been  insisted  upon 
most  hotly  by  Mr.  Macaulay,  who  said  that  no 
subject  could  be  selected  to  illustrate  Milton  which 
was  not  taken  from  Paradise  Lost , and  suggest- 


256 


“PRINCE  HAL” 


[chap. 


ing  one  or  two  subjects  of  the  most  absolutely  un- 
paintable  kind.  One  was  “ Satan  showing  Adam 
the  kingdoms  of  the  earth,”  and  the  other  “Satan 
touched  by  Ithuriel’s  spear  while  whispering  evil 
dreams  into  the  ear  of  Eve.” 

In  my  answer  I ventured  to  point  out  that  to  do 
justice  to  the  first-named  subject,  I should  require 
a canvas  not  smaller  than  one  that  would  cover  the 
area  of  Leicester  Square,  but  the  second  subject, 
which  I considered  a most  cut -and -dry  one,  I 
consented  to  accept. 

It  is  pleasant  to  recall  the  next  note  I had  from 
Sir  Charles  Eastlake,  to  inform  me  that  the  Prince 
Consort  requested  me  to  paint  for  him  in  oils  the 
subject  originally  planned  for  the  fresco.  This 
I did,  and  the  picture  now  hangs  in  the  gallery  at 
Osborne. 

There  was  another  competition  for  historical 
subjects  painted  in  oil,  in  which  I received  another 
prize  of  £ 200 . My  subject  was  “ Prince  Hal  taking 
the  crown  from  his  father’s  bedside.” 

During  its  exhibition  in  Westminster  Hall,  the 
Government  having  no  lien  on  the  works  at  this 
exhibition,  I received  a number  of  applications 


XV] 


PURCHASE  OF  PICTURES 


257 


to  purchase  the  picture,  but  they  all  fell  through 
because  of  the  great  size  of  the  work,  which  mea- 
sured about  twelve  feet  in  height.  One  of  the 
most  persistent  of  the  inquirers  about  it  was  the  late 
Lord  Armstrong,  who  had  built  a public  room  for 
his  friends  at  Newcastle-on-Tyne,  in  which  he 
fully  hoped  to  be  able  to  hang  it,  but  the  oft-re- 
peated disappointment  in  the  matter  occurred  again, 
as  he  found  on  carefully  going  into  the  question  of 
measurements,  that  it  was  a considerable  number  of 
inches  too  large. 

Two  or  three  months  after  this  sad  discovery  I 
received  the  joyful  intelligence  that  Lord  Armstrong 
had  been  induced  to  comply  with  the  request  of  his 
friends  at  Newcastle  to  enlarge  one  portion  of  the 
hall  put  up  for  their  recreation,  and  that  now  he 
should  be  able  to  have  his  way  about  the  picture, 
even  if  it  were  half  as  large  again  as  it  is.  In  this 
hall  hangs  my  picture. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


Presidents  of  R.A. — Sir  Thomas  Lawrence— Sir  Martin  Archer  Shee 
— Sir  Charles  Locke  Eastlake — Frescoes — Sir  Francis  Grant — 
He  defends  his  perspective — Lord  Leighton — Sir  John  Everett 
Millais — Academic  hospitalities — Sir  Edwin’s  stories. 

F Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  the  first  President  I 


ever  saw,  I have  already  said  all,  I personally 


Sir  Martin  Archer  Shee,— When  I entered  the 
Academy  as  a student,  Lawrences  successor  was  Sir 
Martin  Archer  Shee.  I remember  him  as  a hand- 
some elderly  man  and  a ready  speaker.  He  could 
lay  claim  to  a position  as  a literary  man,  and 
indeed  to  that  of  a poet,  whilst  he  was  also  a good 
man  of  business ; perhaps  we  may  leave  his  care- 
fully produced  pictures  out  of  the  question. 

One  story  of  him  must  be  recorded,  it  is  already 
in  print  under  Government  authority.  When  before 
the  Royal  Commission  on  the  Fine  Arts,  he  was 

258 


know. 


CHAP.  XVI] 


SIR  C.  L,  EASTLAKE 


259 


asked  the  nature  of  fresco-painting.  His  answer 
was,  “ Not  having  been  much  abroad,  I am  not 
able  to  speak  positively  on  the  subject,  but  I 
believe  it  is  somewhat  of  the  nature  of  scene 
painting!  Shades  of  Giotto,  Michael  x^ngelo,  Fra 
Beato  Angelico,  and  of  Raphael  defend  us ! How™ 
ever,  Shee  served  the  Academy  most  loyally  and 
industriously,  and  deserves  to  have  his  memory 
treated  with  all  respect. 

Sir  Charles  Locke  East  lake. —One  does  not  write 
his  name  without  a feeling  of  deep  respect  for  the 
untiring  work  done  by  him  in  the  cause  of  art. 

Capricious  memory  carries  me  at  once  to  a 
curious  little  scene  in  Maclise’s  house  in  Charlotte 
Street,  where  I found  Eastlake  with  him  one  day. 
He  had  come  over  to  consult  as  to  what  further  steps 
might  be  taken  to  recover  a very  valuable  collection 
of  pictures  and  sketches,  which  had  been  stolen  from 
Maclise’s  studio. 

Maclise  had  a magnificent  face  and  person,  which 
latter  was  at  the  moment  picturesquely  arrayed  in  an 
old  nightshirt  and  coat,  which  suited  his  large  frame, 
and  Eastlake’s  small  figure  looked  especially  diminu- 


2 6o 


MACLISE’S  LOSS 


[chap. 


tive  in  contrast  as  he  sat  crumpled  up  on  the  edge  of 
his  chair  with  his  hands  clasped  under  his  knees.  A 
moment  after  a detective  entered,  and  he  with  his 
finished  morning  dress  and  finicking  manner  was 
also  an  amusing  contrast  to  the  rollicking  style 
of  “Mac,”  still  more  so  as  regards  their  modes 
of  talking. 

“You  know,”  lisped  the  detective,  “if  I were  to 
see  the  thief  passing  your  window  at  this  moment  I 
should  not  arrest  him.”  c‘But  I should,”  thundered 
Maclise  in  stentorian  voice,  “I’d  have  him  by  the 
throat  at  once.”  “No,  gentlemen,”  pursued  the 
detective,  “ I should  follow  him  and  never  lose 
sight  of  him  till  I found  out  where  the  stolen  pro- 
perty was.”  Sad  to  relate,  no  trace  of  the  stolen 
property  was  ever  discovered. 

Eastlake’s  name  is  so  intimately  associated  with  the 
mural  decorations  in  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  that 
here  will  be  a fitting  moment  perhaps  to  describe  at 
some  length  the  whole  subject  of  fresco-painting,  of 
which  there  is  scarcely  any  public  knowledge  in  this 
country. 

Fresco  is  the  Italian  word  fresh,  as  most  of  us 
know,  and  refers  to  the  fresh  plaster,  made  of  lime 


XVI] 


FRESCO-PAINTING 


261 


and  river  sand,  and  spread  with  the  trowel  upon  a 
carefully  prepared  wall  of  bricks,  as  free  as  possible 
from  disturbing  chemicals,  such  as  salts.  On  this 
fresh  surface  the  artist  must  work  at  once.  For 
colours,  if  you  are  wise,  you  keep  mainly  to  earths 
and  avoid  vegetable  colours.  The  cartoon  being 
complete,  its  simple  outline  is  traced  on  tracing 
paper,  and  that  outline  pricked  through  with  a 
carpet-needle,  and  then  the  tracing  is  fastened  to 
the  wall-space  with  tacks;  a '‘pounce,”  charged 
with  powdered  charcoal,  or  vermilion,  or  any  other 
coloured  powder  preferred,  is  then  dabbed  over  the 
pricked  holes,  and  by  those  means  your  outline  is 
transferred  to  the  intonaco  or  prepared  surface  on 
which  you  are  to  paint.  This,  if  you  like,  may 
then  be  gone  over  with  a fine  bone  modelling  tool, 
slightly  indenting  the  outline,  so  that  you  may  not 
lose  your  outline  till  the  work  is  done. 

The  carbon  of  the  air  at  once  begins  to  unite 
with  the  silica  of  the  sand,  and  to  form  an  imper- 
meable coating  of  cement,  on  which  it  is  no  longer 
possible  to  paint,  as  it  will  not  absorb  any  further 
moisture.  There  your  work  is,  and  no  alteration  is 
possible  unless  you  have  it  all  scraped  off  by  the 


262 


DESTROYING  FIENDS 


[chap. 


plasterer  and  do  it  over  again.  If  you  are  satisfied, 
then  fresh  plaster  is  put  on  for  your  next  bit  of 
work,  the  plasterer  being  a skilled  workman,  who 
carefully  observes  the  outline,  and  joins  up  to  the 
previous  piece  you  have  left  for  him  to  fill  in. 

The  anxiety  of  mind  with  which  you  leave  your 
work  to  dry  is  great,  because  you  never  know  what 
changes  in  colour  may  be  made  by  atmospheric 
processes  as  it  dries. 

1 sometimes  wonder  whether  no  one  knew  how 
vain  was  all  our  work,  our  keen  enthusiasm,  our 
greatest  efforts,  which  in  some  cases  absorbed  the 
very  flower  of  our  youth.  Did  no  one  know  ? At 
all  events,  no  warning  ever  reached  us.  I think 
sometimes  that  the  destroying  fiends  in  the  air 
must  have  shrieked  with  delight  as  they  thought 
how  soon  they  would  make  our  work  as  if  it  had 
never  been. 

Dear,  good,  indefatigable  Eastlake.  Alas ! that 
neither  he  nor  any  of  us  knew  that  fresco-painting 
required  not  only  fresh  plaster  on  which  to  work, 
but  fresh  air  to  preserve  the  work  when  done. 

At  that  time  the  Thames  was  the  main  sewer  of 
vast  London,  and  the  stream  that  flowed  past  the 


XVI] 


SIR  FRANCIS  GRANT 


263 


Houses  of  Parliament  was  charged  with  foul  and 
most  destructive  gases.  Moreover,  the  present 
terrace  of  the  Houses  was  then  the  site  of  a vast 
workshop,  where  hundreds  of  workmen,  working  day 
and  night,  necessitated  the  consumption  of  untold 
volumes  of  coal  gas,  which  was  pouring  forth  its  de- 
structive powers  night  and  day.  When,  therefore, 
we  were  expending  our  artistic  energies  in  trying  to 
make  beautiful  the  palace  of  Parliament,  the  de- 
structive agencies  were  already  at  work,  and  the 
mischief  then  begun  has  since  been  completed. 

Sir  Francis  Grant. — The  most  genial  of  men, 
undoubtedly  sent  into  the  world  to  be  a distin- 
guished artist. 

The  first  time  I saw  him  was  when  he  was  Presi- 
dent of  the  Royal  Scottish  Academy,  and  an 
associate  of  the  Royal  Academy  of  London.  At 
that  time  a dinner  was  arranged  at  the  close  of  the 
annual  Royal  Academy  Exhibition,  when  each 
member  of  the  Academy  could  invite  a friend, 
paying  for  his  ticket  if  he  wished,  but  frequently 
only  nominating  some  one  exhibitor  of  the  year, 
who  paid  for  his  own  dinner.  The  chairman  on 


264 


AN  A.R.A. 


[chap. 


these  occasions  was  always  the  President  of  the 
Royal  Academy. 

Shee  was  President,  and  he  coupled  the  toast  of 
the  sister  Academy  in  Edinburgh  with  the  name  of 
Grant.  Grant,  in  his  reply,  addressing  the  chair- 
man, said,  “ I don’t  know  what  your  experience  is, 
sir,  but  I find  that  the  more  letters  you  have  after 
your  name  the  more  people  think  of  you,  so  when- 
ever people  say  to  me  in  reference  to  my  new 
honours,  “You  are  an  R.A.,  are  you  not,  Grant?” 
I reply,  in  a surprised  voice,  “An  R.A.  ? No,  I 
am  an  A. R.A.” 

From  his  early  lack  of  training  Grant  had  never 
acquired  much  technique,  and  the  science  of  per- 
spective in  no  way  appealed  to  him.  This  was 
amusingly  illustrated  by  a portrait  of  the  Duke  of 
Devonshire,  who  is  represented  leaning  on  a table, 
the  horizontal  surface  of  which  with  all  its  contents 
is  shown,  while  the  horizon  line  in  the  landscape  is 
also  showrn  on  a level  with  the  Duke’s  ankles. 

Charles  Landseer  attracted  the  President’s  atten- 
tion to  this  slight  divergence  from  the  laws  of 
perspective.  Grant’s  reply  was  humorously  to 
remark,  “You  forget  that  Chatsworth  is  on  a devil 


xvi] 


SIR  WALTER’S  PROPHECY 


265 


of  a hill,”  and,  when  further  reminded  that  this,  as 
he  well  knew,  was  not  a fact,  he  laughingly  said, 
“ Well,  can’t  you  imagine  that  it  is  in  a valley  ? ” 
Edwin  Landseer  committed  the  same  error  in 
a picture  in  which  a stone  trough  was  in  the  fore- 
ground, the  lines  of  which  were  at  variance  with 
the  horizon.  When  his  attention  was  drawn  to  it 
he  cleverly  remedied  the  error  by  giving  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  water  overflowing  the  edge  of  a 
tipped  up-trough.  In  one  of  the  best  books  ever 
published  in  the  English  language,  Sir  Walter 
Scott’s  Journal,  which  is  a revelation  of  the 
character  of  perhaps  the  noblest  Christian  gentle- 
man who  ever  lived,  there  is  a delightful  reference 
to  “ Frank  Grant’s  independence  of  spirit,”  when 
he,  as  a young  man,  was  just  beginning  to  be 
favourably  known  as  a rising  artist.  “ He”  (writes 
Scott,  when  staying  at  Grant’s  paternal  home)  “ is 
not  going  to  be  content  with  sitting  at  the  bottom 
of  his  father’s  table  and  passing  the  claret,  but  is 
giving  himself,  heart  and  soul,  to  following  a 
delightful,  though  most  arduous  profession,  and 
achieving  in  it  a marked  and  independent  position.” 
Scott  did  not  live  long  enough  to  see  how 


266 


LORD  LEIGHTON 


[chap. 


brilliantly  his  foreshadowing  of  Grant’s  career  was 
realised,  but  it  must  have  given  an  additional  glow 
to  the  satisfaction  Grant  must  have  felt,  when 
elevated  to  the  presidential  chair,  to  remember 
Scott’s  words. 

The  late  Lord  Leighton  succeeded  Sir  Francis 
Grant ; he  was  almost  unanimously  elected  to  the 
honour  by  his  brother  academicians,  who  alone 
possess  the  franchise  of  the  Royal  Academy.  I 
had  but  slight  knowledge  of  him  or  his  work  before 
he  exhibited  at  the  Royal  Academy  his  excellent 
picture  of  Cimabue,  which  at  once  stamped  him  as 
an  artist  of  remarkable  power.  It  was  soon  made 
clear  also  that  he  was  to  be  numbered  with  those  of 
“the  Admirable  Crichton  order.”  His  general 
accomplishments  were  remarkable  ; he  spoke  and 
wrote  in  the  French,  Italian,  and  German  tongues 
to  perfection.  This  was  the  happy  result  of  his 
father’s  treatment  of  his  early  education,  planting 
him  at  various  art  centres,  not  for  a few  weeks  at  a 
time,  but  for  many  months  of  hard  work  at  his 
chosen  profession.  He  was  singularly  zealous  and 
indefatigable  in  the  execution  of  any  duties  he  had 


XVI] 


MAJOR  OF  VOLUNTEERS 


267 


undertaken  to  perform.  This  was  notably  the  case 
in  his  long  and  efficient  service  in  the  Artists’ 
Volunteer  Rifle  Corps.  I once  saw  him  at  the 
Athenseum,  before  he  became  our  respected  and 
admirable  President  of  the  Royal  Academy,  in  the 
uniform  of  the  Artists’  Rifle  Corps,  of  which  he 
was  then  major.  He  came  booted  and  spurred, 
and  with  clanking  sword,  striding  into  the  dining- 
room, and  stood  at  the  sideboard  leaning  over  and 
studying  the  carte  du  jour  as  he  kicked  out  first 
one  leg  and  then  the  other,  to  stretch  himself  after 
a drill,  during  which  he  had  sat  his  horse  till  he 
was  stiff.  Some  of  the  old  members  of  the 
Athenaeum  who  were  present  looked  not  a little 
astonished  at  this  unusual  sight  in  their  haunts  of 
peace  and  quietness ! 

On  his  appointment  to  the  presidency  of  the 
Royal  Academy,  his  attendance  as  chairman  of 
council  and  at  other  meetings  was  so  rigidly  punc- 
tual that  his  colleagues  jokingly  said  that  he 
systematically  arranged  his  arrival  some  little  time 
before  the  fixed  hour  of  meeting,  and  then  awaited 
the  striking  of  the  clock  before  he  entered  the 
council-room. 


268 


LEIGHTON’S  CHARACTER 


[chap. 


His  chief  characteristics  as  a man  were  kindness 
of  heart  and  generosity  of  disposition.  In  cases 
I have  had  to  bring  before  him  I found  him  ever 
ready  to  render  assistance  with  hand  and  purse. 
He  exercised  hospitality  most  unstintingly,  both  in 
private  and  to  his  academic  brethren,  placing  the 
latter  at  his  table  either  in  accordance  with  their 
official  rank,  or  according  to  seniority  of  election  to 
the  honours  of  the  institution  of  which  they  were 
all  equally  members.  His  attention  to  the  details 
connected  with  his  entertainments  was  minute, 
even  to  the  floral  decoration  of  his  dining-table, 
which  he  did  himself.  There  being  no  Lady 
Leighton  in  his  establishment  was  the  good 
reason  he  gave  for  occasionally  making  these 
matters  subjects  for  discussion  even  at  the 
dinner-table.  When  the  interesting  dining  function 
came  to  an  end,  adjournment  was  made  to  the 
brilliantly  lighted  studios,  where  work  in  progress 
was  freely  shown,  and  criticism  unhesitatingly 
invited. 

Leighton  was  an  enthusiastic  lover  of  music,  and 
used  to  arrange  musical  afternoons,  and  evening 
concerts  of  first-rate  character.  His  long  residence 


XVI] 


LOVE  OF  MUSIC 


269 


abroad  brought  him  into  acquaintance  and  intimate 
friendship  with  musicians  like  Joachim  and  Piatti, 
and  many  other  celebrities  of  “ the  heaven-born 
art,”  who  were  ever  ready  to  come  at  his  summons, 
to  play  and  sing  for  his  delight  and  that  of  those 
carefully  selected  friends  who,  he  felt  sure,  would 
appreciate  to  the  uttermost  the  “ concord  of  sweet 
sounds  ” set  before  them. 

It  was  not  a little  startling  to  note  the  effect  of 
the  theory  of  “ selection,”  rigidly  applied  as  it  was 
by  so  true  a musical  enthusiast  as  Leighton,  in 
arranging  his  list  of  those  to  be  invited  to  his 
musical  gatherings.  Leighton  and  I were  in 
absolute  sympathy  on  most  musical  subjects,  and  on 
none  more  than  in  the  necessity  of  eliminating  from 
the  list  of  those  you  invite  to  a musical  party  every 
individual  of  whom  you  have  the  least  suspicion 
that  he  does  not  possess  the  power  of  listening 
“ cataleptically.”  How  amused  he  was  when  I said 
that  nothing  would  really  satisfy  me  but  the  power 
of  arming  the  musical  conductor  of  the  evening 
with  a fairy  baton,  which  waved  over  a chattering 
or  fidgety  audience  would  reduce  them  to  cataleptic 
silence  instantaneously.  I was  early  trained  by  my 


270 


LEIGHTON’S  HEROISM 


[CHAP. 


father  to  be  perfectly  silent  during  the  performance 
of  music. 

I never  heard  Leighton  touch  a musical  instru- 
ment of  any  kind,  or  sing  a note  of  music,  though 
he  may  have  done  both  with  admirable  results.  It 
was  always  most  gratifying  to  my  musical  soul  to  see 
him  sitting  by  the  performers  and  turning  over  their 
music  for  them,  he  himself  evidently  in  “the 
seventh  heaven  of  delight/'  both  with  the  music 
and  its  execution.  These  pleasant  times  were  of 
regular  and  delightful  recurrence,  but  then  came  the 
woeful  change  in  the  Presidents  health,  and  the 
ominous  symptoms  which  I had  but  too  frequent 
opportunity  to  watch  with  deep  anxiety,  for  all 
through  the  time  of  his  illness  with  his  fearful 
attacks  of  angina  pectoris,  I filled  the  office  of 
treasurer  to  the  Royal  Academy.  My  place  at 
meetings  as  treasurer  was  at  the  President's 
right  hand,  he  sitting  in  the  presidential  armchair 
that  may  have  held  the  slight  form  of  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds. 

When  Leighton  was  visited  with  those  terrible 
paroxysms  of  agony,  the  inevitable  accompaniment 
of  the  heart  disease  with  wiiich  he  was  afflicted,  he 


HIS  FUNERAL 


271 


XVI] 

used  to  beg  the  council  to  discontinue  the  discussion 
which  was  proceeding  for  a few  minutes,  then 
clasped  his  forehead  with  his  left  hand,  clutching 
the  arm  of  the  chair  with  his  right,  and  so  struggled 
with  the  seizure  of  that  mortal  disease,  angina 
pectoris,  and  when  the  agony  had  passed,  calmly 
renewed  the  business  which  had  been  interrupted. 

The  calm  and  heroic  courage  with  which  he  bore 
this  terrible  trial  was  a lesson  indeed  to  all  who 
observed  it.  It  had  fallen  to  me  to  witness  the 
death  of  our  colleague  Edward  Barry,  r.a.,  the 
well-known  architect,  at  the  same  table. 

At  the  burial  service  over  Leightons  earthly 
remains  in  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral  a most  striking 
effect  was  produced  by  an  accidental  cause.  My 
seat  was  under  the  dome,  and  was  so  placed  that  I 
looked  straight  down  the  nave  which  comprised  the 
south  transept  in  my  point  of  view.  It  had  been 
gloomy  all  the  morning,  but  suddenly  through  an 
opening  made  in  the  course  of  reparation  in  the 
tracery  of  one  of  the  south  aisle  windows  shot  a 
brilliant  ray  of  sunshine,  looking  like  a bar  of  molten 
gold  at  white  heat,  and  resting  a moment  on  the 
coffin,  lit  up  group  after  group  of  worshippers  with 


272 


SIR  J.  E.  MILLAIS 


[chap. 


such  astonishing  brilliancy  that  it  caused  many  to 
shield  their  eyes  from  its  searching  power.  It  was 
indeed  God’s  own  search-light  coming  straight  from 
His  heavenly  throne.  And  those  heart-searching 
words  must  have  occurred  to  many,  “ Look  well  if 
there  be  any  wickedness  in  me,  and  lead  me  in  the 
way  everlasting.”  The  glorious  chapter  from  Cor- 
inthians, which  is  the  lesson  in  the  Burial  Service, 
was  being  read  by  the  Dean. 

Lord  Leighton  was  succeeded  as  President  by 
Sir  John  Everett  Millais,  that  child  of  fortune  and 
admirable  artist,  but  who  was  doomed  to  die,  like 
Leighton,  at  a comparatively  early  age. 

The  first  time  I ever  saw  Millais  was  in  West- 
minster Hall,  where  the  Government  Competitive 
Exhibition  of  oil  pictures  was  on  view.  Millais’s 
subject  was  that  of  “ The  Widow’s  Mite.”  He 
painted  in  his  time  a great  number  of  pictures  of 
varied  and  remarkable  excellence — portraits,  land- 
scapes, and  subject-pictures — and  he  well  merited 
the  honours,  wealth,  and  general  success  that  he 
obtained.  He  was  a genial  and  high-spirited  man, 
and  possessed  many  great  artistic  qualities.  He 


XVI] 


HIS  TRAGIC  DEATH 


273 


had  a fine  sense  of  colour  and  female  beauty,  but 
not  much  inventive  power  of  intricate  composition. 
His  chief  successes  were  with  subjects  of  one,  or  a 
few  figures.  His  death  was  most  sad,  and  a 
grievous  public  loss,  and  was  caused  by  that  terrible 
disease,  cancer  of  the  throat.  I was  with  him 
several  times  towards  the  end  ; our  final  parting  was 
very  touching  and  impressive.  He  was  lying  on  a 
low  bedstead,  and  half  sitting  up,  he  threw  his  arms 
round  my  neck,  kissing  me  on  my  cheek,  and  drew 
me  towards  him  with  such  vigour  that  I nearly 
lost  my  balance.  Though  speaking  with  much 
difficulty,  he  said  most  earnestly,  “ Pray  for  me, 
my  dear  old  friend,  pray  for  me,  and  ask  others 
to  do  so.” 

I will  add  here  a few  words  anent  hospitalities  of 
some  of  the  presidents.  Sir  Charles  Eastlake  used 
to  invite  academicians  to  dinner  without  their 
wives,  to  meet  a given  number  of  fashionable  ladies 
without  their  husbands,  the  ladies  being  interested 
in  making  the  acquaintance  of  artists  of  note. 

When  Grant  filled  the  presidential  chair  at  one  of 
the  first  of  these  formal  banquets,  he  essayed  a new 


2/4 


AN  ACADEMY  DINNER 


[chap. 


arrangement,  and  had  no  ladies  present  but  his  wife  ; 
he  also  made  an  innovation  by  asking  his  assistant, 
Alexander  Fraser,  at  the  last  moment  to  fill  a 
vacant  chair.  Amongst  the  R.A.’s  present  were 
Edwin  Landseer,  David  Roberts,  and  Webster. 

The  last-named  recounted  to  me  afterwards  the 
incidents  of  the  evening. 

As  Landseer  was  the  only  “ titled  ” guest  present, 
the  host  naturally  selected  him  for  the  honour  of 
conducting  Lady  Grant  down  to  dinner,  and  he 
planted  Roberts  on  her  left.  Roberts  was  a comely, 
well-to-do-looking,  elderly  gentleman,  with  a grand 
display,  when  in  dinner  costume,  of  white  waistcoat, 
frilled  shirt  front  and  cravat  of  extraordinary  depth 
and  tightness,  which  made  his  joining  in  converse 
with  his  neighbours  at  dinner  quite  a muscular 
effort,  necessitating  an  occasional  furtive  movement 
of  the  fingers  to  the  back  of  his  cravat  bow  to  ease 
its  throttling  tendencies.  He  was  somewhat  slow 
of  speech,  and  with  a decidedly  Scotch  accent,  with 
only  a limited  gift  of  that  power  of  story-telling 
with  which  some  of  his  countrymen  are  so  richly 
endowed.  Now  Sir  Edwin  Landseer  was  a first- 
rate  raconteur , and  came  of  a family  of  humorists 


XVI] 


SIR  EDWIN’S  STORIES 


275 


to  whose  power  in  that  way  I have  often  referred. 
He  was  also,  it  might  be  said,  the  spoilt  child  of  the 
society  from  whose  ranks  Lady  Grant  sprang,  and 
therefore  it  was  not  surprising  that  he  and  Lady 
Grant  got  on  capitally  together ; he  was  evidently 
telling  her  story  after  story. 

Landseer  rarely  exercised  this  faculty  for  the 
benefit  of  the  company  at  large,  a sympathetic 
audience,  one  in  number , suiting  him  much  better. 
The  pleasure  he  took  in  hearing  himself  speak 
was  unquestioned,  especially  when  he  was  in  a 
happy  mood  and  brought  forth  “good  things,”  but 
he  had  no  particular  delight  at  any  time  in  bringing 
others  into  conversation  to  share  its  honours.  Thus 
he  evidently  never  noticed  that  David  Roberts  was 
absolutely  silent  and  gloomy,  as  he  had  no  lady  on 
his  left  hand,  and  the  lady  of  the  house  on  his  right 
was  so  engrossed  by  what  her  cavalier,  Sir  Edwin, 
was  saying,  that  Roberts  must  have  felt  it  too  much 
of  a forlorn  hope  to  make  a direct  attack  upon  her 
attention,  as  she  had  quite  turned  her  back  upon 
him  in  her  ceaseless  talk  with  Sir  Edwin.  There 
was  another  absolutely  silent  individual  at  the  table, 
Grant’s  assistant,  Alexander  Fraser,  called  “Sandy” 


276 


ROBERTS’S  WRATH 


[chap. 


by  his  intimates,  a shy,  reserved  Scotchman  but 
very  clever  artist,  who  painted  still-life  for  Wilkie 
and  others  for  10s.  6d.  a day,  and  found  his  own 
ultramarine  “ at  three  guineas  an  ounce.”  This 
statement  of  terms  was,  I believe,  invented  by  the 
witty  Charles  Landseer. 

When  the  one  lady  retired  upstairs,  Roberts 
burst  forth  in  his  wrath  to  two  or  three  of  his  Royal 
Academy  colleagues  near  him  (Grant,  the  host, 
not  being  within  earshot)  at  the  neglect  he  had 
received  from  my  lady  and  Landseer,  and  the 
miserable  time  he  had  had  of  it,  on  which  one  of 
his  sympathisers  asked  why  he  did  not  join  in  the 
talk  like  a man  ? “ Because  they  ‘ fashed  ’ aboot 

dooks  and  doochesses  about  whom  he  knew 
nothing  and  did  not  want  to,”  was  the  answer.  I 
remember  that  at  this  time  it  was  said  that  the 
worship  of  dignitaries  and  the  larding  of  his  talk 
with  frequent  reference  to  his  personal  intimacy 
with  them,  was  one  of  Landseer  s weaknesses. 

Roberts  declared  that  he  should  say  good-night 
to  Grant  as  they  left  the  dining-room,  and  not  go  to 
the  drawing-room  again,  but  he  was  persuaded  to 
refrain  from  doing  that,  which  would  be  rude  and 


XVI] 


SANDY’S  SONGS 


277 


annoying  to  their  host,  so  they  all  ‘'joined  the  lady,” 
Sandy  creeping  up  after  them. 

The  moment  he  was  there  he  made  for  a corner 
by  the  fireplace,  where  he  sat,  as  he  thought,  un- 
noticed. Landseer  sauntering  in,  saw  a vacant  place 
on  the  sofa  by  Lady  Grant,  who  invited  him  to 
occupy  it,  and  then  the  talk  of  the  dining-room  was 
renewed. 

Suddenly  Roberts  broke  from  the  R.A.’s  with 
whom  he  had  been  chatting,  and  came  towards 
Fraser,  who  had  been  indulging  in  forty  winks,  then, 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  with  his  coat-tails 
under  his  arms,  he  called  to  him  in  tones  that  woke 
him  up  thoroughly,  “ Sandy,  mon  ; Sandy,  gie  us 
a sang,”  and  hurriedly  gave  him  the  choice  from 
his  own  repertoire  of  the  prolonged  ditties  that  the 
sons  of  Scotia  always  appear  so  enamoured  of. 

Sandy,  not  daring  to  doubt  the  propriety  of  any 
proposition  suggested  by  a full-blown  Royal  Acade- 
mician, piped  up,  and  sang  several  of  Roberts’s  selec- 
tion amidst  enthusiastic  applause,  led  by  Roberts 
and  joined  in  by  Landseer,  who  was  more  than  cute 
enough  to  see  the  former’s  impromptu  little  game, 
and  having  been  observant  of  his  arrogance  in  the 


2;8  THE  “RETORT  COURTEOUS”  [chap,  xvi 


dining-room,  admired  the  ingenuity  of  his  “ retort 
courteous.” 

Lady  Grant  looked  considerably  surprised  when 
the  performance  first  commenced,  but  when  she  saw 
the  gushing  approval  with  which  all  the  Scotchmen 
present  (her  own  good  husband  included)  received 
it,  she,  with  ladylike  good  nature,  assisted  in  the 
applause  which  was  accorded  to  Sandy,  who  had 
a charming  tenor  voice,  that  drew  forth  many  sotto 
voce , but  musical,  hummings  from  his  brethren  whose 
warm  blood  was  roused  by  the  swing  of  their  na- 
tional melodies. 

The  “exercise  of  hospitality”  has  been  recog- 
nised by  most  artists,  and  glorious  Sir  Joshua,  with 
his  club  gatherings  and  frequent  dinner  parties,  set 
an  example  which  has,  more  or  less,  been  consistently 
carried  on  by  his  successors  in  the  Academy  chair. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


Winter  exhibitions — Fawkes  of  Farnley — Reception,  failure,  and 
ultimate  success  — Turner’s  study  of  nature  — Treatment  of 
Turner  in  the  National  Gallery — Old  Masters — “Our  Mr. 
Horsley”  — Visit  to  Ireland  — Three  neglected  galleries  — Old 
Dulwich  College — Mr.  Lindsay — My  first  cigar. 


OR  twenty-seven  years  in  succession  I served 


upon  the  committee  annually  elected  from  the 
list  of  academicians  to  organise  the  winter  exhibi- 
tions of  old  masters,  and  certainly  the  work  entailed 
was  amongst  the  most  delightful  experiences  of  my 
artistic  career.  Two  of  the  most  respected  and 
valuable  members  of  the  early  committees  have 
passed  away  since  those  days  referred  to,  Lord 
Leighton,  p.r.a.,  and  George  Richmond,  r.a.,  both 
men  whose  zeal  in  the  cause  of  art  and  delightful 
companionship  as  colleagues  it  would  be  difficult  to 
replace,  and  both  specially  fitted  for  the  work  to  be 
done. 


279 


280 


FAWKES  OF  FARNLEY 


[chap. 


One  of  my  earliest  suggestions  to  the  committee 
was,  that  we  should  have  a full  representation  of 
J.  M.  W.  Turner’s  marvellous  skill  as  a painter  in 
water-colours,  not  so  generally  known  to  the  public, 
in  addition  to  his  glorious  works  in  oil.  My  sugges- 
tion was  warmly  seconded,  and  I undertook,  without 
delay,  to  commence  lists  of  pictures  in  water-colour 
by  Turner  for  our  proposed  collection. 

I had  always  heard  great  things  of  the  collection 
of  Turner’s  works  possessed  by  Mr.  Fawkes,  at 
Farnley,  Yorkshire,  and  I wrote  in  the  usual  way  to 
Mr.  Fawkes,  the  owner  of  the  place,  for  permission 
to  visit  his  collection,  and  got  the  usual  reply,  a 
hospitable  invitation  to  stay  at  Farnley.  The  result 
was  I found  myself  at  Farnley  one  October  after- 
noon, and  was  very  kindly  received  by  Mrs.  Fawkes, 
who  was  seated  in  the  great  saloon,  which  might 
truly  be  said  to  be  literally  papered  with  Turner’s 
works,  and  was  in  itself  a complete  realisation  of 
the  dream  I wished  to  see  fulfilled  on  the  walls  of 
the  Academy.  Pictures  of  all  sizes  and  subjects, 
all  exquisitely  beautiful,  a revelation  even  to  me, 
one  of  the  great  master’s  most  fervent  and  most 
humble  worshippers.  One  saw  here  what  water- 


XVII] 


MV  RECEPTION 


28 


colours  did  once  in  the  history  of  the  world  attain 
to,  and  that  Turner  is  absolutely  unique  and  un- 
approachable ; he  never  had,  and  never  will  have, 
his  equal  or  any  approach  to  it. 

I was  the  only  guest  at  Farnley,  and  after  dinner, 
for  which  Mr.  Fawkes  returned  from  hunting  just 
in  time,  my  host  placed  himself  in  the  constitutional 
British  attitude,  back  to  a blazing  wood  fire,  and 
listened  to  my  rhapsodies  as  1 feasted  on  the  divine 
beauties  around  me.  Suddenly  he  broke  forth, 
stamping  his  foot  with  vehemence,  and  said,  “ I 
will  tell  you  what  it  is,  Mr.  Horsley,  you  are  a 
very  pleasant  gentleman,  and  the  oftener  you  come 
to  see  me  the  better  I shall  be  pleased,  but  I am 
not  going  to  lend  your  Academy  a single  thing  in 
this  house.”  I was  not  a little  staggered  by  this 
outburst,  but  remained  absolutely  silent  for  a time, 
and  then  changed  the  subject  by  discoursing  on  the 
merits  of  some  small  copies  of  the  Turner  drawings 
made  by  Mrs.  Fawkes,  and  with  which  she  was  filling 
an  album  in  a very  clever  fashion.  Nothing  more  was 
said  on  the  subject  of  my  visit.  The  next  morning 
Mr.  Fawkes  was  off  hunting  again,  and  I spent  the 
early  hours  studying  some  oil  paintings,  mostly 


282 


SUCCESS 


[chap. 


Turners,  also  a very  fine  Vandyck,  etc.  Whilst  I 
was  on  a ladder  looking  at  some  pictures  hung  high 
up,  he  came  in  all  mud-bespattered,  and  from  the 
very  different  tone  he  assumed  when  in  reference 
to  some  hospitable  remark,  I said  that  “ I must 
soon  be  off  to  see  other  picture  collections,”  I 
gathered  hope.  I was  convinced  from  his  manner 
he  had  changed  his  mind,  still  in  no  way  did  I 
press  the  subject.  I stayed  another  night,  and 
the  outcome  of  my  visit  and  subsequent  corre- 
spondence was  that  we  at  the  Academy  had  all  we 
desired  from  his  magnificent  collection.  One  set  of 
drawings  were  together  in  a case,  and  therefore 
not  framed,  but  were  labelled  “ Sketches  on  the 
Rhine.”  They  were  made  under  the  following  cir- 
cumstances. The  doors  of  Farnley  were  ever  open 
to  Turner,  who  came  and  went  exactly  as  he  pleased. 
His  great  and  constant  friend  was  the  grandfather 
of  the  Mr.  Fawkes  I found  there,  and  the  former 
received  a note  from  Turner  one  day  to  announce 
his  immediate  arrival  en  route  to  the  Rhine,  via 
Hull.  He  appeared,  but  took  his  departure  for 
Germany  in  a few  days,  saying  that  he  should  re- 
main abroad  three  or  four  weeks,  and  then  come 


XVII] 


RHINE  SKETCHES 


283 


back  for  another  week  with  his  friend  before  return- 
ing to  London.  He  performed  his  programme  to 
the  letter,  and  on  his  second  appearance  at  Farnley, 
fresh  from  the  Rhine,  he  pulled  out  of  his  coat-tail 
pocket  a roll  of  paper  tied  up  with  string,  which 
proved  to  be,  to  Mr.  Fawkes’s  astonished  gaze,  more 
than  half  a hundred  lovely  “Rhine  sketches.”  The 
transfer  of  these  precious  things  from  Turner  to 
Fawkes’s  collection  was  the  work  of  a few  minutes’ 
friendly  talk,  and  Turner,  being  much  gratified  with 
the  rapidity  of  the  business  settlement, said,  “Now  I’ll 
mount  them  for  you.”  To  this  end  he  walked  down 
to  the  neighbouring  village,  went  to  the  one  shop  of 
the  place,  bought  a quire  of  that  strong  sugar-paper 
in  which  saccharine  matter  is  supplied  to  purchasers, 
and  some  wafers  of  the  period,  about  the  size  of  a 
shilling,  and  with  this  material  the  two  devoted 
friends  set  to  work  and  mounted  all  the  sketches, 
putting  a wafer  at  the  four  corners  of  each,  and 
cutting  the  paper  to  the  size  of  each  drawing,  leav- 
ing a good  margin  all  round.  I believe  they  so 
remained  for  several  years,  and  when  they  were 
properly  mounted  there  was  still  some  trace  of 
the  wafers  to  be  seen. 


284 


TURNER  AT  CHELSEA 


[chap. 


No  artist  that  ever  set  a palette  was  more  de- 
voted to  his  calling  than  Turner,  or  more  ceaseless 
in  his  study  of  nature.  When  he  rented  the  small 
house  in  Cheyne  Walk,  Chelsea,  he  told  the  Rev. 
W.  Kingsley  that  he  had  never  missed  watching 
a single  sunrise,  and  not  many  sunsets,  since  he 
occupied  the  premises.  He  possessed  the  faculty — 
common  to  many  remarkable  men — of  awaking  at 
any  hour  he  mentally  fixed  on  going  to  bed,  and  in 
turning  out  he  would  swathe  himself  in  one  of  the 
blankets  on  his  couch,  then,  having  had  access  made 
from  his  bedroom  to  the  roof,  he  would  ascend 
there  just  before  sunrise,  and  if  there  was  fair 
promise  of  an  effective  rising  he  would  remain  to 
study  it,  making  pencil  notes  of  the  form  of  clouds, 
and  writing  in  brief  their  tints  of  colour.  When 
he  had  in  this  way  culled  the  information  nature 
presented  him  with,  he  retired  to  bed,  to  rise  again 
shortly  and  begin  a day’s  work,  which  at  its  close 
teemed  with  evidence  of  incomparable  artistic 
power.  Mr.  W.  Vokins,  the  picture-dealer  (dead 
many  years  since),  told  me  that  calling  once  on 
Turner,  but  not  finding  him  at  home,  he  entered  into 
conversation  with  his  old  landlady,  who,  illiterate 


XVII] 


TURNER  GALLERIES 


285 


as  she  was,  waxed  so  eloquent  over  the  description 
of  his  day’s  work  that  she  wound  up  by  saying, 
“Well,  there  are  times,  sir,  when  I feel  he  must  be 
a god ! ” 

Then  there  is  a Turner  question  which  I desire 
to  state  for  the  consideration  of  every  honest 
Englishman,  especially  those  who  are  gifted  with 
sufficient  taste  for  art  to  appreciate  to  some  extent 
the  priceless  value  of  the  gift  he  left  to  his  country. 
The  money  value  of  this  marvellous  bequest  would 
run  into  many  tens  of  thousands  of  pounds,  and  it 
was  accompanied  by  very  clear  conditions  for  the 
Government  to  carry  out  by  a certain  date.  The 
collection  was  to  be  a permanent  portion  of  the 
National  Gallery,  to  be  called  the  Turner  Galleries. 
The  time  allowed  for  this  was  considerable,  but 
before  he  signed  the  will  it  was  greatly  added  to, 
as  though  Turner  had  no  overpowering  confidence 
in  the  zeal  with  which  this  important  trust  would  be 
performed.  After  much  delay  a large,  well-pro- 
portioned Turner  Gallery  was  completed  from  the 
design  of  Mr.  Pennethorne ; it  was  dignified  in 
scale  and  aspect,  but  not  sufficiently  well  lighted, 
and  from  the  first  it  was  evident  there  was  not 


286 


A BURNING  QUESTION 


[chap. 


enough  wall-space  provided  to  hang  all  the  splendid 
oil  pictures  properly.  However,  they  were  placed 
somehow,  and  then  arose  what  soon  became  a truly 
'‘burning  question, ” namely  the  crying  demand 
for  a new  public  staircase  for  the  National  Gallery, 
which,  according  to  the  authorities,  could  only  be 
brought  to  a satisfactory  issue  by  sacrificing  the 
recently  constructed  Turner  Gallery  and  utilising 
the  vacant  space  for  the  new  staircase.  Then  came 
the  astounding  performance  of  cramming  the  superb 
Turner  show  into  one  of  the  smaller  galleries,  which 
was  formerly  used  by  the  Royal  Academy  as  the 
principal  gallery  of  their  modern  exhibition,  and 
this  arrangement  is  still  maintained  ; lovely  small 
Turner  pictures,  which  ought  to  be  level  with  the 
eyes  of  visitors,  are  fastened  to  the  cornice  of  the 
room ; in  short,  they  are  regularly  mast-headed, 
and  in  complete  legal  negation  of  the  terms  of  the 
great  artist,  on  which  alone  he  devised  the  gift  to 
his  country.  I ventured,  after  much  consideration, 
to  make  a strong  appeal,  some  years  since,  simply 
as  an  individual  artist,  to  two  Cabinet  Ministers  on 
the  position.  Neither  of  these  distinguished  gentle- 
men questioned  my  showing  that  the  existing  treat- 


XVII] 


OLD  MASTERS 


287 


ment  of  these  art  treasures  is  in  complete  contradic- 
tion to  the  terms  on  which  they  were  given  to  the 
nation  by  the  great  artist,  and  one  of  them  ex- 
pressed a hope  that  he  might  live  to  see  full  justice 
done  to  Turner,  and,  he  might  have  added,  to  the 
British  nation,  when  further  additions,  now  I be- 
lieve in  contemplation,  should  be  made  to  the 
National  Gallery. 

Perhaps  the  strongest  impression  that  remains  on 
my  mind  after  many  years  of  interviewing  “ old 
masters,”  some  genuine  and  some  spurious,  is  the 
wonderful  amount  of  delusion  that  exists  in  people’s 
minds  about  their  own  pictures. 

The  never-ending  astonishment  I have  felt  on 
seeing  collections  of  treasured  pictures,  supposed 
by  their  possessors  to  be  originals  of  priceless 
value ! 1 have  had,  by  slow  degrees  and  carefully 

chosen  language,  to  convey  to  them  that  there  was 
in  the  whole  collection  not  one  single  picture  that 
I desired  to  add  to  the  winter  exhibition  of  the 
Academy, 

Sometimes  a most  pathetic  element  added  un- 
told difficulty  to  my  thorny  path,  when  I realised 


288 


A PAINFUL  TASK 


[chap. 


that  the  exhibition  and  perhaps  resulting  sale  of  the 
pictures  was  of  immense  importance  to  the  owner. 

I remember  one  autumn  being  asked  to  visit  a 
collection  in  a remote  shire.  The  owner,  I had 
been  told,  had  been  heavily  hit  by  agricultural 
depression,  that  had  impoverished  thousands,  and 
was  therefore  relying  on  the  sale  of  some  of  what 
he  considered  his  most  valuable  pictorial  posses- 
sions, to  pull  him  through.  The  aspect  of  the 
house  bore  out  the  story  ; the  cheerlessness  and  look 
of  poverty  made  a deep  impression  on  me,  and 
I cannot  say  how  I yearned  to  be  able  to  make 
some  selection  from  the  gallery,  but  alas ! it  seemed 
hopeless  as  I glanced  from  one  copy  to  another. 
I based  my  last  hopes  on  a very  fine  picture  of  the 
Flemish  school,  which  was  to  be  shown  me  after 
luncheon. 

When  this  was  at  last  produced  it  proved  to  be  a 
mere  “ school  ” copy  of  the  original,  which  I knew 
to  exist  elsewhere,  and  I had  the  very  painful  task 
of  taking  my  leave  unable  to  hold  out  any  pros- 
pects of  our  council  being  advised  to  apply  for  a 
single  picture  in  the  collection. 

One  golden  rule  I never  swerved  from  : not  to 


XVII] 


PICTURE-DEALERS 


289 


attempt  to  put  a money  value  upon  anything  shown 
me,  often  as  I was  asked  to  do  so.  I used  to  take 
elaborate  pains  to  explain  that  no  opinion  on  that 
subject  was  of  any  value  except  that  of  an  ex- 
perienced picture-dealer,  one  who  knew  exactly  the 
extent  and  condition  of  the  important  question  of 
demand  and  supply  in  the  picture  market.  When 
pressed  on  the  point  I would  offer  to  send 
them  such  a dealer,  whose  business  it  was  to  be 
well  informed  on  such  points.  I did  not  forget  to 
warn  them  that  there  were  picture-dealers  and 
picture-dealers,  and  that  I had  heard  a shrewd  man, 
well  acquainted  with  picture  selling,  remark  that 
from  his  experience  it  took  two  horse-dealers  to 
make  one  picture-dealer. 

I may  add  that  the  work  of  hunting  up  “ old 
masters  ” suited  me  perfectly,  bringing  into  play 
such  small  gifts  in  the  way  of  tact  and  temper 
as  I possess,  and  my  keen  interest  in,  and  devotion 
to,  the  art  of  the  past  had  given  me  a considerable 
knowledge  of  the  work  of  different  schools  and  men. 
Of  course  it  is  sometimes  very  difficult  to  persuade 
owners  of  magnificent  pictures  to  denude  their  walls 
of  them  for  several  months  at  a time,  and  all  sorts 


u 


2 go 


[chap. 


“OUR  MR.  HORSLEY” 

of  arts  of  persuasion,  of  cajolery,  of  appeal  to  artistic 
altruism  may  have  to  be  called  into  exercise.  My 
old  friend  and  colleague,  W.  W.  Ouless,  r.  a.,  told 
me  that  he  had  been  asked  during  a specially 
successful  exhibition,  the  result  of  many  journeys, 
how  it  was  possible  to  get  such  splendid  shows 
together  year  after  year.  “ Well,”  he  answered, 
“ the  difficulty  is  great ; you  have  first  to  catch  your 
hare,  z.e.  find  out  the  whereabouts  of  desirable 
pictures,  and  the  negotiating  the  loan  of  them  then 
depends  on  the  tact  and  skill  of  the  committee. 
When  we  find  strenuous  opposition,  we  send  ‘our 
Mr.  Horsley  ’ to  call  and  settle  the  matter.”  The 
drollery  of  comparing  the  work  of  collecting  to  the 
smooth-tongued  “bagmans”  proceeding  amused 
me  much. 

I spent  a fortnight  in  Ireland  for  picture-hunting, 
with  great  interest  and  pleasure ; all  that  I had 
heard  of  the  charm  and  beauty  of  the  women 
and  the  wit  and  fun  of  the  men  was  more  than 
realised.  The  purpose  of  my  visit  was  to  hunt 
up  pictures  for  the  winter  exhibition  of  the 
R.A.  I stayed  a few  days  in  Dublin  with  the 
late  Sir  Thomas  Jones,  President  of  the  Royal 


XVII] 


PICTURE-HUNTING 


29 


Hibernian  Academy,  a most  kindly  and  hospitable 
gentleman. 

Just  before  my  arrival  in  Ireland,  the  terrible 
murder  of  an  Irish  peer  had  taken  place,  he  had 
been  waylaid  by  a party  of  rebels  and  ruthlessly 
shot  down. 

At  Sir  Thomas’s  I was  introduced  at  dinner  to  a 
retired  Irish  colonel  of  fiery  aspect.  After  the 
ladies  had  retired,  the  conversation  turned  on  the 
murder,  in  which  I felt  especially  interested,  having 
on  my  list  of  pictures  to  be  seen,  a portrait  by  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  belonging  to  Lord  Dunsandle, 
who  had  been  repeatedly  fired  at.  My  host,  how- 
ever, had  never  heard  of  this  picture,  and  the  house 
where  it  was  said  to  be,  was  in  a remote  part  of  the 
west  coast,  involving  a long  railway  journey  to 
reach  it.  At  this  point  the  fiery  colonel  broke  in  in 
an  excited  voice,  “ Shure  ye’ll  never  go  so  far  for 
pictures,  and  now  I think  of  it,  it’s  uncommonly 
like  the  Dunsandles  ye  are,  ye’ll  be  shure  to  be 
shot!” 

It  is  a curious  fact  that  there  are  three  most 
interesting  collections  of  pictures  in  or  close  to 


292 


NEGLECTED  GALLERIES 


[chap. 


London,  which  are  greatly  neglected,  not  only  by 
the  general  public,  but  by  those  who  consider 
themselves  students  and  connoisseurs  of  art. 

I will  mention  the  smallest  of  these  collections 
first.  The  Soane  Museum  in  Lincolns  Inn  Fields, 
where  in  darkness  and  an  altogether  unworthy 
setting  are  to  be  seen  many  priceless  Hogarths, 
including  the  “ Harlots  Progress,”  and  the  Election 
pictures,  besides  various  other  old  masters  of  un- 
doubted authenticity  and  great  interest. 

The  next  neglected  collection  is  the  Diploma 
Gallery  of  the  Royal  Academy.  This  embraces  all 
the  works  in  painting,  sculpture,  architecture  and 
engraving  that  are  contributed,  each  after  his  kind, 
by  every  newly  elected  Royal  Academician,  and  in 
addition  the  works  of  art,  that  by  legacy,  purchase, 
or  other  ways  have  been  acquired  by  the  Royal 
Academy. 

The  most  notable  of  all  these  is  perhaps  the  un- 
finished “Tondo,”  by  Michael  Angelo,  the  greatest 
artist  that  has  ever  appeared  on  the  face  of  Gods 
earth. 

I remember  when  I was  a student,  Sir  Richard 
Westmacott  drawing  our  attention  to  the  chisel 


XVII] 


FUSELFS  WRATH 


293 


marks  upon  some  of  the  surfaces  in  this  marvellous 
group,  which  he  assured  us  could  only  have  been 
produced  by  a hammer  of  exceptional  weight, 
wielded  by  an  arm  of  almost  fabulous  strength.  I 
have  never  seen  any  representation  of  the  mighty 
Florentine  that  did  not  convey  the  impression  of 
remarkable  muscular  power.  We  all  remember  the 
tradition  that  the  immortal  Michael  Angelos  nose 
was  broken  in  fair  fight  with  Baccio  Bandinelli,  his 
rival  for  the  papal  favour. 

This  reminds  me  of  an  amusing  story  about 
Fuseli,  Keeper  of  the  Royal  Academy,  well  remem- 
bered for  his  extraordinary  force  of  diction  when 
roused  to  anger. 

On  one  occasion  a quarrel  between  Webster  and 
Onion,  another  student,  led  to  a battle  royal  in  the 
hall,  which,  being  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  the 
academicians  on  the  scene,  as  they  came  out  from 
a lecture,  was  carried  to  a finish  in  the  courtyard. 
These  reverend  signors  were  much  annoyed  by  the 
lack  of  discipline  shown  by  this  scrimmage,  and 
remonstrated  with  the  keeper  at  the  next  council. 
Fuseli  in  his  efforts  to  maintain  order  rushed  in, 
mahlstick  in  one  hand  and  cumbrous  old  palette  in 


294 


DULWICH  COLLEGE 


[chap. 


the  other,  exclaiming,  “Yah,  you  are  von  set  of  vild 
beasts,  and  I am  your  blasted  keeper.” 

The  third  gallery  that  in  no  way  receives  its  due 
amount  of  recognition  is  the  Dulwich  Gallery, 
which,  in  spite  of  its  immense  reputation,  is  far 
too  often  neglected  by  even  serious  art  students. 

My  personal  interest  in  Dulwich  College  dates 
from  a very  early  period,  when  my  father  became 
its  tenant  by  buying  the  lease  in  1823  °f  No.  1, 
High  Row,  of  Muzio  Clementi. 

When  I was  about  eleven  years  old,  I was  invited 
to  stay  at  Dulwich  College  in  the  rooms  of  old 
Mr.  Lindsay,  one  of  the  Fellows,  and  the  rector, 
eighty  years  since,  of  Stanford-on-Avon,  a beautiful 
church  near  Rugby,  containing  much  interesting 
work,  especially  some  fine  early  stained  glass  win- 
dows. I spent  delightful  times  copying  pictures 
in  the  beautiful  galleries.  I especially  remember 
my  first  attempts  at  water-colour  were  to  copy  some 
of  the  pictures  in  the  remarkably  good  collection  of 
the  works  of  Nicolas  Poussin. 

Mr.  Lindsay  was  the  tutor  of  the  twelve  boys, 
who  then  constituted  the  school.  He  was  not  an 
early  riser,  so  he  arranged  that  his  class  should 


XVII] 


A QUAINT  SCENE 


295 


come  up  to  his  bedroom  for  their  lessons  at  eight 
o’clock  every  morning.  I remember  well  seeing 
him  sitting  up  in  his  old  four-poster,  propped  by 
pillows  and  swathed  in  a flannel  dressing-gown  of 
a quaint  design,  a tasselled  nightcap  of  the  period 
on  his  head,  and  a long  clay  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
while  grouped  round  the  bed  were  the  twelve 
scholars  repeating  their  lessons.  It  made  a never- 
to-be-forgotten  picture.  The  contrast  between  this 
primitive  class  and  the  present  college,  with  its 
hundreds  of  boys  and  its  modern  methods,  is 
eloquent  of  the  changes  that  have  been  effected 
in  good  old  Lindsay’s  lifetime  and  that  of  his 
successors. 

The  Fellows,  with  any  guests  they  might  have, 
dined  together  in  the  hall,  which  opened  out  into 
the  delightful  garden  for  which  the  college  has 
always  been  famous.  In  those  happy  days  the 
gardens  were  often  harmonious  with  the  songs  of 
nightingales,  whose  proverbial  shyness  seemed 
overcome  in  this  delightful  retreat,  and  I have  often 
watched  them  singing  so  close  to  me,  that  I could 
see  the  throbbing  of  the  tiny  throats  as  those 
wonderful  sustained  notes  were  poured  forth.  This 


296 


MY  FIRST  CIGAR 


[CHAP. 


was  when  we  were  out  in  the  garden  after  dinner, 
a rather  long  performance. 

Dear  old  Lindsay,  who  had  about  as  much 
idea  of  bringing  up  a young  boy  outside  his 
scholastic  training  as  I should  have  of  training 
a dancing  bear,  and  who  never  had  a pipe  out 
of  his  mouth,  said  on  one  of  these  evenings, 
“John,  will  you  have  a cigar?”  I did  not  wish  to 
shirk  the  duties  or  apparent  pleasures  of  mature 
manhood,  a condition  which  I conceived  I had 
reached  when  I entered  my  teens,  so  I accepted 
the  cigar  (without  the  least  idea  of  what  I was  to  do 
with  it),  and  watching  the  ways  of  those  about  me, 
succeeded  in  lighting  it  at  the  right  end  and  in 
smoking  it  to  the  end ; after  which  performance 
I felt  perfectly  well,  and  so  much  elated  with  my 
success  that  I calmly  asked  for  another ! I am  as- 
tonished on  looking  back  to  reflect  that  this  was 
given  to  me,  a mere  child,  without  the  judicious 
advice  one  might  expect.  Luckily  for  me,  the 
smoking  party  broke  up  before  I had  got  very  far 
with  No.  2 cigar,  and,  absolutely  drunk  and  dizzy 
with  nicotine,  I shall  never  forget  my  feelings  as  I 
followed  Mr.  Lindsay  to  my  room,  and  stood  dumb 


XVII] 


SAD  CONSEQUENCES 


297 


and  wretched  and  yearning  for  blessed  solitude  as 
he  explained  where  this  and  that  could  be  put ; 
indeed  before  he  had  left  the  room,  I had  thrown 
myself  flat  on  my  face  on  the  great  feather  bed,  just 
managing  to  roll  myself  over  a bit  before  I became 
completely  unconscious,  very  likely  thus  saving 
myself  from  suffocation. 

The  next  morning  I was  perfectly  well,  but  1 
may  say  that  this  escapade  settled  the  question  for 
me  as  to  smoking,  and  thrown  as  I have  been  with 
habitual  smokers  much  of  my  life,  I have  never  felt 
the  smallest  inclination  to  indulge  in  this  practice, 
and  literally  never  smoked  even  a cigarette  to  the 
bitter  end,  being  content  with  a whiff  or  two  on  rare 


occasions. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


Jim  Bishop,  a typical  model — Cope  takes  him  in  hand — Before  the 
magistrates — Defence  of  Webster — Employed  by  Boxall — Pigs’- 
wash — J.  B.  vanishes  from  the  scene — April  ioth,  1848 — Special 
constables. 


WO  of  my  earliest  professional  friends  were 


Cope  and  Redgrave,  both  of  whom  eventually 
became  Royal  Academicians. 

When  the  Westminster  Hall  competitions  com- 
menced, Cope  and  Redgrave  were  building  houses 
for  themselves,  and  amongst  the  gang  of  labourers 
employed,  one  of  them  named  Bishop  attracted 
their  notice  as  a powerful  and  well-proportioned 
man,  with  a handsome  head,  the  result  being  that 
he  was  soon  promoted  from  building  operations  to 
artists’  painting-rooms  and  the  schools  of  the  Royal 
Academy.  He  was  strictly  honest,  at  least  I have 
never  heard  a word  to  the  contrary  from  any  of  my 
many  friends  in  whose  houses  and  gardens  he  was  a 
familiar  figure. 


CHAP.  XVIII] 


A TYPICAL  MODEL 


299 


Though  an  entire  ignoramus,  and  with  the 
devotion  to  beer  common  to  the  majority  of  his 
class,  he  was  of  an  inquiring  turn  of  mind,  and  used 
to  put  most  posing  questions  during  his  sittings  as 
a model. 

My  old  and  highly  respected  friend,  C.  W. 
Cope,  r.a.,  took  a keen  interest  in  the  endeavour 
to  soften  and  instruct  the  really  savage  nature 
of  the  man,  for  savage  indeed  he  was  when 
roused.  He  was  a professed  pugilist,  and  had 
done  much  prize-fighting,  a line  of  business  from 
which  he  found  it  necessary  to  retire,  as  not  con- 
ducive to  his  appearance  as  a model,  when  called 
upon  to  pose  for  a crowned  head,  an  inspired 
prophet,  or  a father  of  a family  in  some  gentle 
domestic  scene,  such  as  occur  in  Webster’s  admir- 
able works. 

On  one  occasion  he  announced  to  Cope  that  he 
was  going  to  stand  godfather  to  Bill’s  child,  “ Bill,” 
often  referred  to  as  his  bosom  friend,  being  one  of 
the  gang  in  which  he  had  worked.  Cope,  fired  with 
anxiety  to  improve  the  occasion,  gave  him  a grave 
lecture  on  the  responsibilities  he  was  undertaking, 
upon  which  Bishop  promptly  replied,  “No,  sir, 


300 


A THEOLOGICAL  LESSON 


[chap. 


I don’t  know  nothen  about  ’sponsibillyties  ; never 
’eared  on  ’em  ; all  I know  is,  sir,  that  if  Bill  wor  to 
die,  I should  have  to  find  his  child  in  grub  and 
tommy  ” ( Anglice — meat  and  drink). 

On  another  occasion  he  startled  Cope  by  sud- 
denly asking  him,  “ What’s  the  meaning  of  the 
sacrymints,  sir?”  Naturally  Cope,  a fervent 
Christian,  though  a little  embarrassed  by  the  sudden 
question,  was  very  anxious  to  explain  clearly  the 
subject  to  this  ignorant  “ clod  of  the  valley.”  He 
was  perhaps  a little  lengthy,  and  very  soon  Bishop 
was  sound  asleep.  Snoring  himself  awake,  and 
passing  the  back  of  his  hand  over  his  lips,  he  ex- 
claimed, “ I was  dreamin’,  sir,  that  I was  fightin’ ; 
I loves  a good  fight,  sir,  I do.” 

About  the  same  time  he  was  sitting  to  me,  and 
I had  in  the  room  a singularly  beautiful  and  im- 
pressive crucifix  of  Italian  work  lent  me  for  a 
picture  I had  in  hand.  I saw  that  Bishop’s  atten- 
tion was  riveted  on  it,  and  at  last  he  said,  without 
taking  his  eyes  off  the  figure,  “A  deal’s  thought  of 
that  poor  chap,  sir ; you  sees  his  pictur  in  all  the 
shops ! ” 

One  night  he  and  his  friend  Bill  were  walking 


XVIII] 


BEFORE  THE  MAGISTRATES 


301 


home  from  the  theatre  with  their  wives,  when  they 
were  brutally  assaulted,  and  the  women  insulted,  by 
half  a dozen  roughs,  who  were  well  punished  by 
Bishop  and  his  friend  ; the  police,  however,  inter- 
vening, the  whole  party  were  locked  up  for  the 
night.  Luckily  the  affray  had  been  witnessed 
from  the  beginning  by  one  of  the  police,  and  the 
magistrate,  before  whom  the  prisoners  were  brought, 
was  so  convinced  by  the  evidence  of  the  rights  of 
the  case  that  he  committed  the  roughs  to  a term  of 
imprisonment,  and  highly  complimented  Bishop  and 
his  friend  on  their  gallant  conduct,  winding  up  by 
regretting  that  he  could  do  no  more  for  them. 

Thereupon  Bishop  came  to  the  front  and  asked 
permission  to  say  that  there  was  one  thing  his 
worship  could  do,  and  that  they  would  thank  him 
very  much  for  the  favour.  “ What’s  that,  my 
man?”  said  the  magistrate.  “Why,  your  honour, 
let  me  and  Bill  have  these  six  blackguards  down  in 
your  back  yard,  and  give  ’em  what  they’d  have  got 
last  night  if  your  perlice  hadn’t  stopped  the  game.” 

Bishop  had  not  a little  in  his  nature  of  the  knight- 
errant,  and  once  he  exercised  his  muscles  most 
beneficially  in  aid  of  Webster,  r.a.,  who,  going  up 


302 


WEBSTER’S  CHAMPION 


[CHAP. 


Church  Street,  Kensington,  late  one  night,  came 
upon  a man  shamefully  ill-treating  his  wife. 
Webster,  who  was  tall,  strong,  and  very  plucky, 
rushed  into  the  fray,  and  knocked  the  man  down. 
He  was  soon  up  again  however,  and  Webster  was 
preparing  to  receive  a vigorous  onslaught  from  a 
formidable-looking  ruffian,  when  he  found  himself 
clasped  violently  round  the  waist,  lifted  up,  and 
carried  a yard  or  two  to  the  rear  by  Bishop,  who, 
happening  to  be  passing  homewards  at  that 
moment,  was  just  in  time  to  put  his  patron  in 
safety  and  to  administer  a vigorous  punishment  to 
his  assailant,  who  succumbed  at  once  on  recognising 
Bishop,  whose  prowess  was  well  known  in  the 
slums  of  the  royal  borough. 

Sir  William  Boxall,  r.a.,  once  enlisted  this  sturdy 
champion  in  his  service.  Sir  William  was  much 
annoyed  by  the  incessant  playing  of  a German 
pianist  who  lodged  next  door  to  him,  and  whose 
constant  practising  so  got  on  his  nerves  that  Boxall 
could  not  paint.  He  tried  to  come  to  terms  with 
his  neighbour,  but  could  not  extort  the  smallest 
concession. 

Determined  not  to  be  beaten,  he  engaged  Bishop 


XVIII] 


PIGS’- WASH 


303 


and  a friend  (“  Bill,”  no  doubt),  providing  them 
with  iron  trays  and  pokers,  with  which  they  were 
to  make  music  when  the  piano  struck  up.  So  when 
the  musician  started,  they  did  the  same,  and  the 
din  may  be  imagined.  After  one  or  two  repetitions 
of  this,  the  German  pianist  came  to  terms,  and  the 
twenty-four  hours  were  divided  equitably  between 
the  rival  arts. 

Sir  Edwin  Landseer  also  frequently  employed 
Bishop  as  a model  It  may  be  remarked  that 
Bishop  had  at  this  time  started  the  peaceful  avoca- 
tion of  pig-keeping  in  Kensington. 

During  a sitting  to  Landseer,  Bishop  broke 
silence  by  remarking,  “ I believe,  sir,  you  are  very 
hintimate  with  the  Queen,  hain’t  you  ? ” Landseer 
admitted  that  he  had  the  honour  of  frequently 
painting  for  Her  Majesty,  whereupon  Bishop  con- 
tinued, “ I hoffen  passes  that  big  ouse  she  lives  in  ; 
they  calls  it  Buckingham  Pallis,  and  I thinks  if  only 
I could  ave  her  pigwash  I should  be  riglarly  set 
up  in  the  business.  Do  you  think,  sir,  that  the 
next  time  you  are  with  er  quiet  and  comfatable 
like,  you  could  put  in  a word  about  my  pigs  ? 
I should  be  so  werry  much  obliged  to  you.”  A 


304 


BISHOP’S  WIFE 


[CHAP. 


shout  of  laughter  was,  I fear,  the  only  reply  to 
Bishop’s  request.  He  never  repeated  it.  I had 
often  reason  to  observe  a strong  strain  of  sensitive 
intelligence  in  his  rough  nature. 

We  used  often  to  hear  from  Miss  Skerrett  of  the 
constant  amusement  given  at  Windsor  by  Land- 
seer’s wonderful  anecdotes.  Is  it  possible  that  the 
above  may  have  reached  royal  ears  ? 

I was  once  the  means  of  pressing  Bishop  into 
the  service  of  the  State  on  April  ioth,  1848,  that 
memorable  day,  concerning  which  I have  never 
seen  any  special  record  in  print,  and  as  it  certainly 
merits  a place  in  history,  I will  briefly  record  my 
experience  of  it,  though  I must  first  add  a few 
words  more  about  Bishop. 

At  one  time  he  made  a serious  effort  to  give  up 
his  drinking  habits,  and  took  the  pledge.  His 
second  wife,  to  whom  he  had  lately  been  married, 
had  a great  idea  she  could  make  her  fortune  as 
a model,  but  unfortunately  she  shared  his  old  taste 
for  strong  drink.  I had  not  seen  him  for  several 
weeks,  when  he  came  to  me  one  day  in  a miserable- 
looking  state,  and  had  to  confess  that  he  had  re- 
turned to  his  evil  ways,  but  that  it  was  entirely 


XVIll] 


CHARTIST  RIOTS 


305 


owing  to  the  new  wife ! “ All  had  been  going  on 

well : we  were  very  comfortable  like,  and  got  new 
bits  of  furniture,  and  then  I had  to  go  off,  and  was 
away  a bit,  sitting  to  a hartist  in  the  country ; and 
one  night  I comes  in  and  finds  all  the  new  furniture 
gone,  and  she — well,  sir,  what  do  you  think  she 
was  doing  ? She  was  lying  dead  drunk  before  the 
fire.”  “What  did  you  do?”  I asked.  “ What  did 
I do  ? Why,  I picked  her  up  by  the  air  of  her 
’ead  and  I dashes  her  against  the  floor.” 

After  this  truly  tragic  turn  of  events,  poor  Bishop 
disappeared  from  the  scene.  I often  inquired,  but 
I never  could  learn  what  had  become  of  him.  Even 
the  police  lost  touch  with  him  altogether. 

To  return  to  the  Chartist  riots. 

The  ringleader  of  the  Irish  faction  in  1848  was 
Feargus  O’Connor,  an  accomplished  forerunner  of 
the  choice  Hibernian  spirits  who  do  their  best  to 
make  life  hideous  in  the  House  of  Commons  and 
to  reduce  that  place  of  noble  memories  to  the  level 
of  a bear-garden.  The  same  miserable  game  was 
played  in  1848  as  in  1902. 

It  was  evident  that  the  Chartists  meant  to  carry 
their  violence  from  words  and  threats  into  deeds. 


3°  6 


WARLIKE  PREPARATIONS 


[CHAP. 


They  talked  of  occupying  the  Notting  Hill  hunting- 
grounds,  as  several  large  fields,  used  for  schooling 
hunters  in  the  taking  of  five-barred  gates  and 
hedges,  were  called.  The  Government  was  to 
bring  30,000  regular  troops  into  London,  and 
many  thousand  special  constables  were  to  be  en- 
rolled in  readiness  for  April  10th,  the  day  arranged 
for  the  rising  of  the  Chartists. 

Then  did  various  parishes  collect  in  their  num- 
bers, summon  assemblies,  nominate  committees  ; 
there  was  wild  talk  and  warlike  oratory,  and  much 
waste  of  time  by  speculations  as  to  all  possible  and 
impossible  contingencies  by  elderly  gentlemen,  for- 
merly members  of  the  services,  who  considered 
themselves  specially  able  to  give  valuable  sugges- 
tions. 

The  Home  Office  directed  that  the  regular  police 
force  should  afford  all  possible  information  regarding 
the  use  of  the  staff  with  which  the  specials  were 
to  be  armed.  I cannot  vouch  for  the  words,  but 
the  directions  finally  printed  and  distributed  read 
something  like  a cookery  receipt,  and  ran  much  as 
follows : “ On  encountering  a rebel  with  evident 
intention  of  attacking  you,  stand  firm  with  the 


XVIII] 


SPECIAL  CONSTABLES 


307 


leathern  loop  of  the  staff  round  the  wrist,  and 
holding  the  staff  at  point  very  firmly  in  your  right 
hand,  advance  upon  your  enemy  and  give  a vigorous 
thrust  at  the  third  button  of  his  waistcoat,  counting 
from  the  bottom  of  that  garment.  If  the  blow  be 
strong,  sharp,  and  vigorous,  it  will  completely  double 
up  your  opponent,  and  present  his  head  and  neck 
in  the  most  favourable  position  for  receiving  a 
slashing  cut,  following  the  division  line  of  his  hair- 
parting  or  straight  across  it.  These  directions,  well 
carried  out,  should  lay  your  adversary  at  your 
feet.” 

Of  course  I enrolled  myself  as  a special  constable, 
and  was  made  a captain  under  Mr.  Garrard,  a 
gentleman  living  in  Notting  Hill  Square.  We  were 
requested  to  enrol  more  recruits,  but  I could  only 
get  two:  one  was  my  frame-maker,  a meek  little 
father  of  a family,  who  carried  his  staff  about  with 
him  wrapped  up  in  brown  paper,  and  protruding 
about  a half  a yard  from  his  pocket,  much  resem- 
bling a “ Polony  ” sausage,  as  that  popular  article 
of  food  from  Bologna  was  called.  The  other  was 
Bishop,  who  I much  feared  might  be  got  hold  of 
by  the  other  side,  if  I did  not  get  him  sworn  in 


308 


THE  PROCESSION 


[CHAP. 


myself.  I intended  to  install  him  as  a guardian  on 
my  own  premises  on  the  much-dreaded  night.  It 
may  now  be  quite  forgotten  that  the  risk  of  blood- 
shed and  of  a serious  rising  was  considered  so  great 
that  the  great  Duke  of  Wellington  himself  was  put 
in  command. 

It  had  been  advertised  by  the  Chartists  that  they 
would  hold  their  meeting  at  Kennington  Common, 
where  on  April  ioth  they  assembled  in  their  tens 
of  thousands,  and  under  the  leadership  of  O’Connor 
and  others  were  marshalled  into  a huge  and  un- 
wieldy procession  following  the  great  timber  wag- 
gon containing  the  monster  petition,  the  various 
sheets  of  which  were  rolled  round  lengths  of  cut- 
up scaffold  poles  and  wrapped  in  waterproof : they 
formed  a heavy  load. 

The  Duke  had  planned  to  offer  no  opposition 
whatever  to  the  proceedings  unless  they  were  ac- 
companied by  riot.  So  the  procession  started  on 
its  journey  in  military  order,  but  of  course  there 
were  stragglers  and  a whole  crowd  of  “rag  and 
bobtail  followers.”  The  crowding  and  confusion 
became  terrible,  and  when  the  first  part  of  the  pro- 
cession and  its  leaders  reached  Westminster  Hall, 


XVIII] 


DREAD  ANTICIPATIONS 


309 


and  found  that  no  petitions  were  received  there  for 
the  House  of  Commons,  but  that  they  must  be 
taken  to  the  Home  Office,  Whitehall,  fatigue  and 
hunger  and  the  irritation  of  delay  began  to  tell 
more  and  more,  till  the  leaders  were  at  their  wits’ 
end. 

They  called  a halt  and  held  a consultation,  and 
it  was  agreed  that  a small  escort  would  now  be 
sufficient  to  accompany  the  timber  waggon  to  the 
Home  Office.  Daylight  was  departing  when  they 
reached  the  Home  Office,  and  no  member  of  that 
department  was  there ; they  had  apparently  all  been 
knocked  up  with  the  agitation  and  excitement  of 
the  last  few  weeks.  Finally,  after  the  leaders  had 
worked  themselves  into  a perfect  frenzy,  Mr.  Samuel 
Redgrave  (brother  of  the  artist),  who  was  one  of  the 
principal  clerks  in  the  Home  Office,  gave  permission 
for  the  petition  to  be  taken  in  and  kept  for  the 
consideration  of  the  Government. 

Meanwhile  what  had  become  of  all  the  Chartists  ? 

It  had  been  anticipated  that  the  evening  would 
bring  terror  and  bloodshed,  that  shops  would  be 
sacked  and  houses  broken  into.  Thousands  of 
special  constables  paced  the  streets,  truncheon  in 


NOTHING  HAPPENS 


[chap. 


310 

hand,  prepared  to  carry  out  to  the  letter,  no  doubt, 
the  carefully  learned  instructions  as  to  their  use, 
and  with  hearts  beating  with  unwonted  excitement 
at  the  thought  of  what  the  night  might  bring 
forth. 

For  my  part,  having  carefully  instructed  the 
few  specials  under  my  command,  I paced  my 
special  beat,  the  Mall,  till  three  o’clock  in  the 
morning.  At  first  my  own  footfall  was  “the 
only  sound  I heard,”  then  I heard  the  cocks 
crow,  the  twitter  of  the  early  bird,  but  never  had 
the  streets  seemed  more  absolutely  silent,  more 
steeped  in  repose.  Then  the  regular  policemen 
began  to  come  back  to  their  usual  beats,  the 
dreaded  night  had  come  and  gone,  and  nothing  had 
happened. 

I held  a post  at  that  time  of  Head  Master 
of  the  Figure  Class  in  the  Government  School 
of  Design,  which  was  established  under  the  super- 
intendence of  a most  powerful  committee,  presided 
over  by  H.R. H.  the  Prince  Consort,  and  located 
at  Somerset  House  in  the  apartments  formerly 
occupied  by  the  Royal  Academy.  I had  there- 
fore been  earlier  in  the  day  witness  of  the  elab- 


XVIII] 


AT  SOMERSET  HOUSE 


3i  1 

orate  and  cautious  arrangements  taken  for  the 
defence  of  that  building  on  the  10th  of  April. 
Two  full  infantry  regiments  were  marched  into 
the  courtyard  of  the  grand  old  place  before 
sunrise,  as  I heard  later  in  the  day,  on  getting 
into  conversation  with  one  of  the  officers.  He 
told  me  that  it  was  understood  that  if  any  real 
fighting  with  the  mob  commenced,  the  officers 
in  command  of  districts  were  to  request  all  the 
special  constables  to  go  quietly  home  and  leave 
the  rest  to  the  regular  troops.  Two  batteries  of 
artillery  were  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Ken- 
sington Palace.  The  officers  in  command  of  districts 
were  riding  about  the  whole  day  in  plain  clothes, 
and  going  to  headquarters  at  the  Horse  Guards  at 
stated  times  to  report  to  the  Duke.  As  it  happened 
I did  not  go  into  town  till  after  luncheon  time,  and 
then  I went  to  Somerset  House,  and  there  found  all 
serene  and  free  from  any  excitement;  the  iron  gates 
of  Somerset  House  had  been  covered  with  tar- 
paulins, so  that  nothing  could  be  seen  of  the  military 
occupants.  One  friend  of  mine  was  walking  about 
for  hours,  and  said  that  not  once  did  he  see  the  glint 
of  light  upon  sword  or  bayonet ; but  when  the  time 


312 


RETURN  OF  TROOPS 


[chap.  XVIII 


fixed  for  the  return  of  troops  by  rail  to  their  various 
stations  came,  the  gates  were  flung  open,  the  sound 
of  drums  and  trumpets  filled  the  air,  and  they 
marched  out  accompanied  by  tens  of  thousands  of 
Londoners  all  cheering  wildly  and  showing  every 
sign  of  enthusiasm  for  law  and  order. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

London  fogs — My  adventures — Other  outrages — Curious  incident. 

SOME  beneficent  change  in  the  elements  has 
taken  place  respecting  London  fogs,  and 
several  winters  have  now  passed  without  the  real 
“pea-souper,”  which  was  such  an  intolerable  afflic- 
tion. The  last  of  these  was  the  worst  I was  ever 
out  in,  and  my  experiences  in  it  were  happily  so 
unusual  that  I may  relate  them  here. 

At  the  annual  changes  of  the  members  of  the 
Academy  Council  it  is  customary  to  have  a dinner 
at  which  the  retiring  members  and  those  about  to 
serve  are  present.  The  galleries  are  lighted  up  for 
the  first  time  in  the  current  winter  exhibition,  and  a 
pleasant  evening  is  usually  spent  in  them. 

On  the  particular  evening  that  I refer  to  the 
rooms  became  very  full  of  what  I thought  was  the 
product  of  the  cigars  and  pipes  of  the  assembled 


313 


3H 


A PEA-SOUP  FOG 


[chap. 


party,  but  I was  enlightened  when,  having  asked  an 
attendant  to  call  a fourwheeler  to  take  me  to  Ken- 
sington, he  returned  after  an  hour  to  report  a 
terrible  fog,  and  a great  scarcity  of  cabs.  A miser- 
able specimen  of  the  “ growler”  was  however  at  the 
door,  and  the  horse  and  the  driver  were  both 
hanging  their  heads  in  the  deepest  dejection,  while 
the  moisture  streamed  off  the  man’s  battered  hat  on 
to  his  nose.  A stifling,  suffocating  fog  almost 
choked  one. 

I bawled  out  to  the  aged  Jehu,  “ Do  you  think 
you  can  get  me  to  Kensington  ? ” And,  as  the 
brilliant  Academy  lights  fell  on  his  face,  I could  see 
he  was  at  least  fourscore  years  old,  and  such  a 
picture  of  ancient  feebleness  that  I felt  very  doubtful 
as  to  his  powers  of  getting  his  misery  of  a horse 
so  far. 

“Yes,  sir,  I’ll  drive  yer  to  Kingsingtong,  never 
fear,  but  I shall  want  five  shillings  for  the  job.” 
“Land  me  safely  there,  I replied,  and  I’ll  give  you 
more  than  that.” 

The  old  Academy  servant  handed  me  in  two 
leather  bags,  one  of  which  contained  no  incon- 
siderable sum  in  cash  from  my  bank,  and  very 


xix] 


MY  ADVENTURES 


3i5 


fervently  wished  me  good-night  as  he  closed  the 
cab  door. 

We  started,  and  plunged  wildly  about  from  one 
pavement  to  the  other,  but  I was  at  home  in  these 
parts  and  able  to  guide  cabby  to  the  right  side  of 
the  road,  so  that  the  wheels  were  in  the  gutter  and 
grinding  along  the  kerbstone. 

An  intelligent  linkman  was  of  much  assistance, 
but  still  we  wandered  on  in  hopeless  uncertainty, 
crawling  along  a few  yards  at  a time,  and  asking 
where  we  were  from  every  policeman  we  en- 
countered ; but  for  all  that,  we  found  ourselves  for 
the  third  time  at  Hyde  Park  Corner!  The  snow, 
which  was  thick  on  the  ground,  and  in  great  mounds 
in  places,  the  remains  of  the  terrible  January 
blizzard,  much  increased  our  difficulties  in  recog- 
nising localities. 

We  had  just  left  one  friendly  policeman,  who  had 
set  us  right  again,  and  turned  the  horse  round  with 
face  due  west  for  Kensington,  when  out  of  the  fog 
there  suddenly  appeared  a great  “rough,”  standing 
quite  six  feet  high,  and  two  others,  who  pressed 
their  assistance  on  us.  A policeman  appeared,  and 
they  promptly  vanished  ; but  before  I could  claim 


3i 6 A MERCIFUL  DELIVERANCE  [cHap. 


his  aid  the  fog  seemed  to  swallow  him  up,  and  the 
roughs  reappeared.  The  biggest  of  them  laid  his 
huge  hand  upon  the  framework  of  the  door,  and  we 
seemed  absolutely  at  their  mercy,  but  the  hand  of 
a kind  Providence  was  manifested  in  my  behalf. 
At  that  moment  I saw  the  lights  of  the  Alexandra 
Hotel  reflected  in  the  snow ; I seized  the  precious 
bags  in  one  hand,  burst  open  the  door  with  great 
force,  thus  sending  my  assailant  rolling  in  the 
gutter,  and  dashed  into  the  hotel,  where  I was 
received  by  the  night  porter,  who,  when  he  heard 
of  my  adventures,  heartily  congratulated  me  on  my 
escape.  Had  the  gang  got  at  us  a few  hundred 
yards  further  on,  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  them 
from  maltreating  me  and  the  poor  old  driver  to  any 
extent,  and  making  away  with  my  valuables. 

It  was  2.30  by  the  hall  clock  of  the  hotel,  where 
I had  to  pass  some  hours,  trying  to  calm  my  per- 
turbed spirit,  till  the  fog  had  lifted  and  a cab  could 
be  procured  to  take  me  home.  Here  I found  that 
my  wife,  having  waited  for  me  for  many  anxious 
hours,  had  then  roused  my  eldest  son  Walter,  and 
gone  to  the  Kensington  Police  Station  for  advice. 
They  advised  her  to  return  home  for  a while, 


xix] 


OTHER  OUTRAGES 


3U 


instant  inquiries  being  at  once  made  in  every  police- 
station  of  the  neighbourhood.  On  reaching  home 
they  found  me  safe  and  sound,  and  very  grateful,  as 
I ever  shall  be,  for  my  escape.  The  poor  old  cabby 
and  the  linkman,  who  had  suffered  severely  at  the 
hands  of  the  roughs,  both  came  to  me  at  the 
Alexandra,  and  were  consoled. 

I heard  of  two  other  outrages  evidently  com- 
mitted by  the  same  gang  that  night.  One  was  the 
case  of  a nephew  of  Sir  Francis  Grant,  who,  when 
crossing  the  Green  Park,  and  close  to  the  exit  at 
Hyde  Park  Corner,  was  attacked  by  three  ruffians  ; 
he  was  young  and  vigorous,  and  after  a few  minutes 
of  hitting  hard  right  and  left,  was  able  to  escape, 
and  making  a rapid  flight  found  himself  in  the  arms 
of  a policeman. 

That  they  were  the  same  men  was  proved  by 
their  home-made  lanterns  of  three  pieces  of  deal 
wood  nailed  together  with  a thick  piece  of  candle 
fastened  in  the  middle.  I had  had  ample  time  to 
observe  this  ingenious  construction,  as  my  man  was 
flourishing  it  all  the  time  he  was  paying  me  his 
unwelcome  attentions. 

The  second  adventure  happened  to  two  ladies 


318 


A COMIC  ADVENTURE 


[CHAP. 


who  were  returning  from  the  Haymarket  Theatre. 
Not  a cab  could  be  procured,  so  they  started  to 
walk  back.  They  took  the  most  frequented  route 
by  Piccadilly.  The  ruffians,  fresh  from  their  en- 
counter with  young  Grant,  marked  the  unprotected 
ladies  turn  up  Park  Lane,  and  came  up  with  them 
by  the  garden  railings  of  Mr.  Rothschild’s  house. 
The  ladies,  exhausted  by  their  long  walk  in  thick 
and  slippery  snow,  and  encumbered  by  heavy  wraps, 
were  an  easy  prey.  The  wretches  pounced  upon 
them,  tore  off  their  jewellery  even  to  the  wedding- 
ring  of  one  of  the  ladies,  and  then  hearing  the  ap- 
proach of  policemen,  bolted  with  their  booty,  leaving 
their  unhappy  victims  in  a fainting  and  bruised 
condition. 

This  was  almost  tragic,  but  I will  conclude  with 
an  incident  that  is  decidedly  comic.  A barrister 
friend  of  mine  left  his  chambers  in  the  Temple  one 
afternoon  of  dense  fog  to  return  to  his  house  in 
Eccleston  Square,  where  his  wife  was  waiting  to 
go  with  him  to  a dinner-party  at  a neighbour’s 
house.  The  lady  was  especially  nervous  about  fog, 
and  as  it  grew  more  and  more  dense  she  decided  to 
countermand  their  brougham  and  to  persuade  her 


XIX] 


A DIFFICULT  START 


319 


husband  when  he  came  in  that  it  would  be  wiser  to 
stay  at  home,  especially  as  the  dinner-hour  was 
already  passed. 

Her  anxiety  was  relieved  by  his  appearance,  full  of 
the  perils  he  had  encountered  on  his  way,  but  he 
was  astonished  to  find  his  wife  comfortably  en- 
sconced in  an  easy-chair  before  the  fire  and  in 
morning  dress.  Her  eloquence  availed  not,  and 
she  almost  tearfully  agreed  to  make  an  effort  to 
reach  their  friend’s  house,  going  as  they  were,  as 
regards  toilette,  for  their  stables  being  close,  the 
brougham  could  soon  be  ready  to  take  them. 

The  poor  lady’s  determination  was  helped  by  her 
having  to  confess  that  in  her  agitation  she  had  quite 
forgotten  to  order  any  dinner  at  home,  which  avowal 
did  not  improve  the  position  of  affairs. 

The  brougham  came  round,  but  the  start  was  not 
easily  effected,  for  the  horse,  never  the  quietest  of 
nags,  evidently  shared  the  lady’s  views  as  to  the 
undesirability  of  venturing  out  of  doors  in  such 
weather.  He  expressed  his  sentiments  by  entirely 
refusing  to  move  on,  and  stood  pawing  the  ground, 
snorting  and  sneezing,  and  shaking  his  harness  in 
the  most  threatening  way,  finally  bolting  on  to  the 


320 


AN  INTELLIGENT  HORSE 


[chap. 


pavement  with  the  carriage  as  if  to  ring  the  area 
bell.  However,  the  coachman  succeeded  in  bring- 
ing him  back  to  a better  mind  and  the  roadway,  and 
they  started  at  last,  though  at  a funeral  pace. 

My  friend,  telling  me  of  this  adventurous  jour- 
ney, said  that  after  half  an  hour  of  crawling  in  the 
dark,  for  he  could  not  see  the  lamps  of  his  brougham, 
he  let  down  an  inch  or  two  of  the  window,  and, 
nearly  choked  by  the  inrush  of  fog,  called  out  to  his 
coachman,  “Do  you  know  where  you  are?”  “ No, 
sir;  haven’t  done  so  from  the  moment  we  left  the 
’ouse.”  “ Then  turn  round  and  go  home.” 

“ ‘ But  I don’t  know  a bit  which  way  to  turn,  nor 
where  we  might  be  a going  to  if  I do,’  was  the 
hopeful  answer.  Down  went  the  window,  as  I 
fancied  I heard  a voice.  I shouted,  ‘ Is  that  any- 
one passing?’  ‘Yes,’  replied  a cheery  voice,  ‘I 
am  here  all  right,  ’ow’s  yourself?  Can’t  see  yer.’ 
“‘No,’  I replied,  4 my  friend,  nor  can  I see  you, 
but  can  you  tell  me  where  we  are?’  ‘Why,  yes, 
sir,’  and,  to  my  intense  surprise,  I found  we  were 
in  our  own  stable  yard,  and  my  cheery  informer 
was  a coachman  occupying  the  next-door  stables  in 
the  same  yard.  At  last  it  flashed  into  my  mind 


XIX] 


HAPPY  ENDING 


321 


that  we  had  been  brought  here  by  the  intelligence 
of  my  own  horse,  who,  by  some  instinct,  finding 
that  he  was  not  being  guided,  thought  he  might  as 
well  return  to  his  own  stall,  and  therefore  proceeded 
incontinently  to  do  so.” 

The  lady,  who  seems  to  have  been  in  a partial 
collapse  during  the  drive,  jumped  out  at  a bound 
when  she  found  herself  safely  at  home,  and  promptly 
interviewed  her  cook,  who  was  happily  amenable, 
and  after  the  least  possible  interval  an  excellent 
supper  was  sent  up,  which,  enlivened  by  a bottle 
of  “ Moet  Chandon,”  so  revived  my  hero  and 
heroine  that  they  were  enabled  a little  later,  when 
the  fog  was  less  dense,  to  walk  to  their  friends 
house,  where  they  were  to  have  dined,  and  to 
cheer  up  the  party,  still  going  on,  by  relating  their 
adventure. 


CHAPTER  XX 


City  dinners — The  Merchant  Taylors — “Our  datur” — Sir  Julius 
Benedict — The  art  of  after-dinner  speaking — My  first  after-dinner 
speech  at  the  Academy  banquet—  The  Mansion  House — Lord 
O’Hagan  and  Harker— Charles  Dickens’s  speech— Sir  Richard 
Owen. 

THE  various  companies  of  the  City  of  London 
have  ever  been  renowned  for  their  unflagging 
zeal  in  support  of  public  charity  and  education,  and 
for  their  hospitality  to  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men.  Were  it  possible  to  publish  from  their  archives 
a detailed  statement  of  their  expenditure  even  for  a 
single  decade  upon  the  above  good  works,  it  would 
raise  a world’s  astonishment.  In  respect  to  the  last 
but  not  least  of  important  virtues  named  in  the 
above  list — the  exercise  of  hospitality — it  is  safe 
to  assert  that  no  man  who  has  achieved  marked 
distinction  in  his  calling,  whatever  it  may  be,  fails 
to  have  his  life  work  recognised  by  the  City  com- 
panies in  the  form  of  a friendly  summons  to  a 
banquet  in  their  stately  halls. 


322 


CHAP.  XX]  THE  MERCHANT  TAYLORS 


323 


I made  the  acquaintance  of  City  dinners  at  an 
early  period  of  my  career,  when  the  manners  and 
education  of  the  City  man  were  very  different  from 
those  he  now  possesses.  I remember  distinctly  my 
first  appearance  at  a City  feast  on  the  invitation  of 
the  master  and  wardens  of  a very  old  company.  I 
found  myself  seated  between  the  senior  warden  of 
the  company  and  a gentleman  who,  I found,  was 
the  Master  of  the  Merchant  Taylors’  Company,  and 
a most  agreeable  and  talkative  person.  When  I 
turned  to  my  left-hand  neighbour  he  was  so 
absorbed  in  lapping  up  turtle  soup,  of  which  he 
had  two  or  three  relays,  following  them  up  with 
turtle  fins,  that  I felt  conversation  was  the  last 
thing  he  could  desire.  His  profile,  as  I glanced  at 
him  to  see  if  I could  venture  to  disturb  the  one 
idea  that  evidently  absorbed  all  his  faculties  at 
the  time,  told  me  much.  Nature  had  written  his 
character  large  on  his  outward  form : a low  forehead 
and  the  smallest  brain  case  I ever  saw  in  any  human 
being,  a double  double  chin,  balanced  by  a roll  of  fat 
at  the  back  of  his  neck,  which  had  made  itself  com- 
fortable over  the  collar  of  his  coat.  The  whole 
aspect  of  the  face  was  decidedly  porcine,  and  the 


324 


44  OUR  DATURA 


[CHAP. 


mouth,  the  most  remarkable  of  the  features,  was 
marvellously  adapted  for  the  main  purpose  it  had 
to  accomplish. 

At  last  I ventured  a question  : “ Being  much 
interested  in  antiquities,  may  I ask  the  age  of  your 
company,  sir?”  He  turned  slowly  round  to  me 
with  a very  bleared  and  dazed  expression  on  his 
countenance,  looked  me  heavily  in  the  face,  and 
said:  “Three  thousand  years.”  For  the  moment 
I was  so  staggered  by  his  astonishing  reply  that 
I was  at  a loss  what  to  say  next,  so  I repeated 
the  question,  with  the  suggestion  that  he  had  not 
quite  heard  it  before.  “Three  thousand  years” 
came  again  slowly  and  deliberately.  The  Merchant 
Taylor  on  my  left  exclaimed  : “ Well,  that  beats 
anything  I ever  heard.”  I felt  I must  speak  out. 
“ But,  my  dear  sir,  if  you  will  reflect  that  we  are 
only  now  in  the  nineteenth  century  of  the  Christian 
dispensation,  there  must  be  something  wrong  with 
your  figures.  “Ah,”  said  my  fat  friend,  “three 
thousand  years  would  be  before  our  datur,  wouldn’t 
it?”  Then  did  the  Merchant  Taylor  subside  again 
into  paroxysms  of  laughter. 

But  we  had  not  done  with  surprises.  The 


xx] 


A “PIANNER”  PERFORMANCE  325 


master  of  the  company — a singularly  good-looking 
man  and  a veritable  aristocrat  in  appearance,  rose 
and  proposed  an  interminable  list  of  toasts.  When 
he  came  to  that  of  the  army,  he  told  us  he  knew 

nothing  on  that  subject,  but  that  General was 

present,  “and  he’s  agoing  to  tell  yer  all  about  it.” 

Amongst  the  guests  was  my  old  and  valued 
friend,  Sir  Julius  Benedict,  the  popular  and  talented 
German  musician,  who  later  in  the  evening  was 
called  upon  to  speak  to  the  toast  of  music;  but  he 
was  so  panic-stricken  that  he  made  an  earnest 
appeal  to  be  allowed  to  play  instead  of  speaking— 
a proposition  which  was  enthusiastically  received 
by  the  guests.  The  worthy  chairman  rose  to  in- 
form us  of  the  change,  and  to  assure  us  of  his  con- 
viction that  we  should  have  a performance  upon 
the  “pianner,  which  would  neither  corrupt  the 
mind  nor  taint  the  ’eart.”  These  were  his  very 
words.  It  is  fifty  years  and  more  since  I heard 
this  speech,  but  I have  never  forgotten  it.  Cer- 
tainly aspirates  were  scattered  right  and  left  in 
those  days. 

It  was  always  then  a question  of  interest  to  see 
if  a fresh  speaker  at  the  Royal  Academy  banquets 


326 


AFTER-DINNER  SPEAKING 


[CHAP. 


was  possessed  of  an  “ h ” or  not.  About  this 
period  I was  present  at  a public  meeting,  in  which 
the  Right  Honourable  the  Lord  Mayor  of  that  day, 
when  he  was  pleading  the  cause  of  a charity,  the 
object  of  which  was  the  care  and  training  of  little 
boys,  took  occasion  to  inform  us  that  he  had  visited 
the  “ ’ouse,”  and  that  these  “ boys  ad  a ’ealthy  and 
a ’appy  ’ome.” 

These  reminiscences  call  up  many  others  of 
similar  occasions,  and  a few  remarks  on  the  sub- 
ject of  after-dinner  speeches  may  not  be  out 
of  place. 

In  the  first  place,  let  Shakespeare’s  maxim, 
“ Brevity  is  the  soul  of  wit,”  be  deeply  graven  on 
heart  and  mind,  and  pray  for  inspiration.  But  you 
should  have  charged  your  memory  with  something 
terse  and  strong  and  germane  to  the  matter  in 
hand,  with  which  to  enrich  the  beginning,  middle, 
and  end  of  your  speech. 

A famous  Scotch  judge,  Lord  Colborne,  used  to 
say  that  to  speak  comfortably  in  public  you  should 
foster  a habit  of  feeling  an  utter  contempt  for  your 
audience.  I venture  to  differ  entirely  from  the 
noble  and  learned  lord  ; I think  an  orator’s  duty  is 


xx] 


A MANSION  HOUSE  BANQUET  327 


to  keep  constant  watch  upon  his  hearers,  and  to 
guide  his  speech  according  to  the  attention,  or  the 
reverse,  he  is  receiving  from  them.  My  father  was 
one  of  the  best  after-dinner  speakers  of  his  day, 
and  he  always  made  “the  speech  of  the  evening,” 
as  it  is  termed,  for  the  Royal  Society  of  Musicians, 
for  which  noble  and  charitable  institution  he  sedu- 
lously worked  all  his  professional  life,  and  the 
appeals  he  then  made  were  always  distinguished 
for  their  terseness  and  their  brevity.  As  a boy  of 
twelve  I used  to  join  the  ladies  on  these  occasions 
in  the  gallery,  where  they  sat  to  hear  the  speeches, 
and  to  be  regaled  with  sandwiches  and  ices,  which 
were  provided  for  their  support  during  the  ordeal, 
so  I have  had  a long  acquaintance  with  the  tedious- 
ness of  after-dinner  speaking. 

One  year,  when  our  dear  old  President  of  the 
Royal  Academy,  Sir  Francis  Grant,  was  in  office, 
the  Lord  Mayor  for  the  year  conceived  the  idea  of 
honouring  the  members  of  the  Royal  Academy 
with  a banquet  at  the  Mansion  House,  and 
asking  representatives  of  all  the  artistic  and 
literary  societies  to  meet  them.  The  dinner  was 
fixed  to  take  place  early  in  November,  and  on  the 


328 


I REPRESENT  THE  R. A. 


[CHAP. 


morning  of  the  day  I was  setting  to  work  as  usual, 
when  a messenger  arrived,  “ fiery  red  with  haste,” 
with  a note  from  Lady  Grant  to  say  that  the  Presi- 
dent was  very  ill,  and  wanted  to  see  me  on  urgent 
business.  Down  went  my  palette,  and  I entered 
a passing  hansom  and  drove  straight  to  the  Presi- 
dent’s house  in  the  Regent’s  Park.  Here  I found 
the  good  man  in  bed,  from  which  his  doctor  had 
said  he  could  not  and  must  not  stir  for  days  of  un- 
known number.  He  gasped  out,  “ I have  sent  for 
you  to  say  you  must  take  my  place  at  the  Mansion 
House  dinner,  and  represent  the  Academy.”  I 
was  rendered  speechless  for  the  moment  by  this 
overwhelming  proposition,  against  which  I vehe- 
mently remonstrated,  but  without  avail.  On  my 
representing  to  him  that  he  would  be  expected  by 
the  academic  body  to  select  a member  of  the 
extant  Council  to  take  his  place  on  such  an  unfore- 
seen calamity,  he  shut  me  up  by  saying  that  it  was 
his  privilege  to  make  a choice  without  reference  of 
any  kind,  that  he  had  thought  the  matter  over,  and 
neither  could  nor  would  say  another  word  on  the 
question,  he  was  quite  exhausted,  and  I must  go 
away.  He  at  the  same  moment  called  upon  Lady 


xx] 


MY  ANXIETIES 


329 


Grant,  who  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  to  see 
me  out. 

I looked  at  my  watch,  and  found  it  was  twelve 
o’clock.  Public  dinners  were  earlier  then  than  they 
are  now,  and  the  invitation  was  six  o’clock,  for  half- 
past punctually,  so  that  what  with  toilette  and  dis- 
tance to  be  travelled,  I had  little  more  than  four 
hours  clear  in  which  to  prepare  a speech.  For  a 
moment  I felt  like  Shakespeare’s  engineer,  “hoist 
with  his  own  petard,”  for  the  argument  which  I 
have  often  used  against  giving  speakers  notice  of 
what  would  be  required  of  them  instantly  occurred 
to  me.  Still,  I felt  this  to  be  an  exceptional  occa- 
sion, and  that  I should  be  failing  in  respect  to  it  if 
I did  not  try  to  make  some  notes  of  what  I should 
say.  So  in  the  deepening  gloom  of  the  November 
day — a fitting  accompaniment  to  my  frame  of  mind 
— I sat  down  at  the  writing-table  in  my  painting- 
room  and  began  my  task.  I spent  an  hour  of  my 
limited  time  over  a manuscript,  which  soon  became 
a mass  of  erasures,  and  then  at  last  it  occurred  to 
me  to  have  faith  in  my  principles.  I tore  up  what 
I had  written  and  threw  it  in  the  fire,  took  up  my 
palette  again,  and  the  fog  lifting,  1 had  some  hours 


330 


HARKER 


[chap. 


of  pleasant  work  till  the  time  came  for  fulfilling  my 
duty  to  Sir  Francis  Grant. 

On  this  occasion  ladies  were  invited  to  accompany 
their  husbands,  and  my  wife  and  myself  enacted  the 
parts  usually  filled  by  very  august  personages,  the 
Lord  Mayor  taking  Mrs.  Horsley  into  dinner,  while 
I had  the  honour  of  escorting  the  Lady  Mayoress 
to  the  uppermost  table  in  the  Egyptian  Hall  of  the 
Mansion  House.  On  my  right  hand  sat  a gentle- 
man with  whom  I at  once  found  myself  plunged 
into  very  interesting  and  animated  conversation. 
He  was  Lord  O’Hagan,  at  one  time  Lord  Chan- 
cellor of  Ireland.  He  was  much  amused  at  my 
description  of  the  throes  I had  gone  through  since 
the  time  I had  left  my  President,  and  said  that 
nothing  should  induce  him  to  address  such  an 
assembly  as  this,  without  having  had  ample  time 
for  preparation — but  Nemesis  was  at  hand.  Just 
before  the  end  of  the  dinner,  Harker,  the  toast- 
master, a well-known  functionary,  whose  duty  it  is 
to  convey  the  Lord  Mayor’s  requests  to  the  guests, 
appeared,  and  squaring  his  elbows  and  bowing  low 
to  the  Irish  peer,  said,  “ The  Lord  Mayor  will 
thank  you  to  propose  the  toast  of” — I forget  what 


xx] 


“PRRUPPERATION” 


33i 


it  was.  Up  flamed  the  impetuous  Irishman,  no 
doubt  remembering  how  strongly  he  had  spoken  to 
me  about  being  requisitioned  for  impromptu  speak- 
ing. He  turned  upon  the  toast-master,  and  said, 
“ You,  sir,  go  back  to  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  tell  him 
from  me  that  he  is  not  justified  in  asking  me  or  any 
of  his  guests  to  address  such  an  assemblage  as  this 
without  giving  ample  time  for  preparation.”  Barker 
was  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  without  a moments 
hesitation  replied,  “ Prrupperation,  my  lord  ; why,  if 
we  were  to  give  the  gentlemen  the  time  for  prrup- 
peration, they  would  speak  all  the  evening !”  The 
Irishman  was  overcome  by  the  readiness  of  the 
impromptu  reply,  “Gad,  he  had  me  there,  hadn’t 
he  ? ” I readily  agreed,  and  assured  him  that  now 
he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  accede  to  the  Lord 
Mayors  suggestion,  which  he  did,  and,  I need  not 
say,  made  an  admirable  little  speech.  The  notion 
of  a trained  parliamentary  lawyer  of  Lord  O’ Hagan’s 
calibre  requiring  time  for  the  “ prrupperation  ” of  an 
after-dinner  speech  was  too  comical,  and  he  felt  it  to 
be  so  afterwards. 

I little  thought  when  this  incident  occurred  of 
what  use  it  would  be  to  me  in  time  to  come,  for  it  has 


332 


PALMERSTON’S  SPEECH 


[chap. 


been  my  lot  to  have  had  much  impromptu  after-dinner 
speaking  thrust  upon  me,  and,  I think  I may  say, 
speaking  generally,  to  have  come  out  of  that  ordeal, 
at  any  rate,  without  disgrace,  and  many  and  many 
a time  have  I brought  down  the  house  by  the  intro- 
duction of  that  Mansion  House  story  ; the  humour 
of  it  appeals  so  forcibly  to  the  experience  of  “diners- 
out  ” and  after-dinner  speakers. 

After-dinner  oratory  is  a subject  of  evergreen 
interest  to  the  male  sex,  though  I am  afraid  it  must 
be  admitted  that  to  the  majority  who  are  never 
called  upon  to  speak,  it  is  an  unmitigated  bore, 
nevertheless  on  rare  occasions  audiences  are  excited 
by  it  to  veritable  enthusiasm. 

When  I repeated  the  maxim  that  “brevity  is  the 
soul  of  wit,”  I was  referring  to  social  oratory,  but 
when  we  come  to  great  political  questions,  we  may 
bear  in  mind  the  following  facts,  that  the  late  Lord 
Palmerston  made  a speech  on  “the  Greek  question” 
of  which  it  was  possible  for  Gladstone  to  say,  that  the 
“ House  of  Commons  hung  upon  his  lips  from  sun- 
set to  sunrise.”  As  a fact  he  commenced  a speech 
of  more  than  six  hours’  duration  before  nine  p.m.,  and 
he  did  not  sit  down  till  four  a.m.  the  next  morning. 


xx] 


DICKENS’S  SPEECH 


333 


Dr.  Jackson,  Bishop  of  London,  whom  I had  the 
privilege  to  know,  at  the  time  spoke  of  the  speech 
to  me  as  the  greatest  effort  of  oratory  since  the  days 
of  Demosthenes. 

As  a contrast  to  this,  in  what  I have  called  social 
oratory,  let  me  place  a speech  of  Charles  Dickens, 
at  our  Royal  Academy  banquet  in  1870,  which 
roused  the  audience  to  the  greatest  pitch  of  en- 
thusiasm I have  ever  seen  exhibited.  The  speech 
lasted  four  and  a half  minutes,  and  no  more.  The 
subject  was  a most  eloquent  tribute  to  the  memory  of 
Daniel  Maclise,  perhaps  the  most  popular  man  who 
was  ever  a member  of  the  Academy.  We  had  had 
men  of  such  note  as  Gladstone  and  Motley  speak- 
ing during  the  evening,  and  yet  Millais,  when  dis- 
cussing with  myself  and  other  members  the  events 
of  the  meeting,  could  say  of  Charles  Dickens’s  speech, 
comparing  it  with  those  of  all  the  other  orators  of 
the  night,  “ Ah  ! didn’t  he  mop  them  all  up ! ” 

We  have  had  sad  experience  at  the  Royal 
Academy  of  the  tedious  side  of  public  speaking, 
and  I regret  to  have  to  say  that  it  is  from  dis- 
tinguished Churchmen  and  scientists  that  our  chief 
troubles  have  from  time  to  time  arisen.  There  is  one 


334 


SPEAKERS  AT  BANQUETS 


[chap. 


fatal  notion  with  which  many  of  the  distinguished 
gentlemen  invited  to  dine  and  to  speak  at  the 
annual  Royal  Academy  banquet  seem  possessed, 
and  that  is,  that  speaking  in  an  atmosphere  highly 
charged  with  painters  and  their  works,  they  are 
bound  to  refer  to  art  generally,  and  to  painters, 
sculptors,  and  architects  particularly,  in  their  oration. 
The  result  is  often  quite  hopeless  floundering  in  a 
subject,  of  which  these  distinguished  gentlemen 
would  be  the  first  to  tell  you  privately,  that  they 
knew  nothing. 

I remember  when  such  potent  orators  as  Palmer- 
ston and  Westbury  were  almost  brought  to  a stand- 
still by  the  difficulties  in  which  an  attempt  at  art 
criticism  had  landed  them. 

There  is  an  old  Academy  custom,  which,  I 
believe,  strongly  tends  to  increase  this  trouble.  It 
is  this.  To  the  President  for  the  time  being  is  en- 
trusted the  duty  of  making  out  the  list  of  speakers 
to  the  various  toasts,  which  is  then  submitted  to 
the  Council,  to  be  endorsed  by  that  body.  The 
President  then  writes  to  each  individual  named, 
and  informs  him  of  the  pleasant  after-dinner  duty 
imposed  on  him.  Many  of  those  invited  are  either 


xx] 


LEIGHTON’S  SPEECHES 


335 


unaccustomed  to  public  speaking,  or,  at  all  events, 
to  such  an  unique  audience,  including,  as  it  does 
sometimes,  crowned  heads  and  leading  representa- 
tives, both  British  and  foreign,  of  Art,  Literature, 
Science,  the  Services,  the  Church,  and  Law,  and 
therefore  they  feel  the  absolute  necessity  of  writing 
out  what  they  wish  to  say,  and  then  learning  it  by 
heart.  In  this  there  is  the  risk  of  being  too  lengthy 
or  of  failure  to  learn  the  speech. 

“ Men  say  he  has  no  heart,  but  I deny  it  ; 

He  has  a heart,  and  gets  his  speeches  by  it.” 


Our  late  President,  Lord  Leighton,  who  was  a 
most  accomplished  man  all  round,  when  we  were 
discussing  this  very  question,  told  me  that  he 
could  rely  entirely  on  his  good  memory,  but  if,  in 
delivering  his  speeches,  which  he  had  written  out 
and  learned  word  for  word,  he  failed  to  remember 
a solitary  preposition  or  conjunction  in  his  MS.,  he 
had  a thrill  of  horror  of  impending  panic,  and  then 
— total  oblivion ! 

The  gravest  peril  perhaps  in  public  speaking  is, 
lest  the  orator,  when  by  undue  length  he  has  quite 
wearied  out  his  audience,  and  they  express  their 


336 


SIR  RICHARD  OWEN 


[CHAP. 


feelings  by  ironical  “ Hear,  hears,”  or  otherwise, 
should  take  these  hostile  sounds  as  applause,  and 
start  afresh. 

I think  as  it  is  many  years  since  the  popular  and 
esteemed  Sir  Richard  Owen  went  to  his  rest,  I may 
be  pardoned  for  naming  him  as  a decidedly  “wordy” 
man.  For  various  reasons  he  had  for  several  years 
running  been  chosen  to  represent  science,  and, 
anxious  as  we  all  were  for  a change,  the  President 
felt  unable  to  sanction  any  other  choice,  saying  it 
would  break  Owens  heart,  but  that  he  would  say 
something  to  him  about  making  a shorter  speech. 
At  the  next  Council  meeting  he  reported  a most 
satisfactory  interview  with  Owen,  who  had  himself 
suggested  that  when  he  became  too  garrulous, 
carried  away  by  his  enthusiasm  for  science,  the 
President  was  to  take  his  watch  out  of  his  pocket 
as  a signal  to  stop. 

The  guest  of  the  evening  was  H.R. H.  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  and  he  was  informed  of  the  proposed 
arrangement,  at  which  he  was  not  a little  amused. 
The  moment  arrived,  out  came  the  watch  amid 
suppressed  excitement  on  the  part  of  those  in  the 
secret,  but  alas ! no  one  had  foreseen  the  failure  of 


XX]  AN  UNSUCCESSFUL  EXPERIMENT  337 


the  arrangement.  In  consequence  of  Owens  lofty 
stature  and  way  of  holding  himself,  with  his  right 
hand  lightly  clasping  his  left  wrist,  his  shoulders 
raised,  and  his  head  thrown  back,  as  if  to  investigate 
the  construction  of  the  skylights,  the  Presidents 
byplay  with  his  watch  was  quite  out  of  his  line  of 
vision.  Nevertheless  Sir  Francis  Grant  manfully 
stuck  to  his  engagement,  and  dangled  his  watch  in 
the  air  at  different  angles,  in  the  vain  endeavour  to 
catch  the  professorial  eye.  Before  long  the  greater 
part  of  the  guests  had  been  made  to  comprehend 
what  was  going  on,  and  were  convulsed  with 
laughter,  which  at  all  events  greatly  relieved  the 
tedium  of  the  speech.  Later  on  His  Royal 
Highness  was  seen  engaged  in  most  amused  con- 
verse with  the  professor  and  the  President,  as  to  the 
success  (!)  of  the  carefully  arranged  experiment. 

No  doubt  carefully  written  orations  which  can  be 
handed  over  to  the  reporter  come  out  best  in  the 
next  day’s  Timesy  when  the  reports  of  impromptu 
speeches  are  often  defective,  still  there  is  an  amount 
of  inspiration  possible  to  the  impromptu  which  adds 
freshness  and  character  not  to  be  found  in  studied 
compositions. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


Cranbrook  — Willesley — Norman  Shaw,  r.a. — Friendly  models  — 
Difficulties  in  finding  models — Mr.  Edmund  Bastard — Yealmpton 
— Proposed  frescoes — Closing  words. 


I CAN  NOT  let  my  recollections  go  forth  without 
a few  words  about  Cranbrook,  and  the  associa- 
tions that  gather  round  the  name  of  that  old- 
fashioned  little  town  in  the  Weald  of  Kent. 

“ Where’s  Cranbrook  ? ” I remember  saying  to 
old  Tom  Webster  one  day,  when  he  told  me  he 
was  going  down  into  Kent  to  see  the  young 
artist  F.  D.  Hardy,  who  was  painting  the  cottage 
interiors  in  the  neighbourhood.  This  visit  ended  in 
Webster’s  taking  rooms  in  a charming  old  farm- 
house, which  had  been  originally  built  and  occupied 
by  a prosperous  Kentish  cloth  maker.  Tradition 
relates  that  it  was  with  red  Kentish  cloth  that 
Cranbrook  streets  were  covered  during  one  of 
Oueen  Elizabeth’s  progresses.  It  may  have  been 

338 


CHAP.  XXI] 


CRANBROOK  CHURCH 


339 


the  very  one,  which  is  said  to  have  given  the  name 
of  Turn-den  to  a farmhouse  at  a fork  of  the  road, 
where  she  uttered  the  imperious  word  “Turn” 
when  tired  of  her  progress  through  the  deep  mire 
of  the  country  roads. 

Cranbrook  Church  is  a notable  feature  with  its 
grand  tower  and  south  porch  with  beautiful  priests’ 
door,  which  I painted  in  a picture  called  “ Le  Jour 
des  Morts.”  It  stands  outside  of,  and  a little  above 
the  town,  and  here  in  winter  evenings  at  eight 
o’clock  the  sounds  of  the  curfew  bell  could  till 
very  recently  be  heard.  One  of  the  most  pictur- 
esque old  houses  in  the  High  Street  became 
Webster’s  studio,  when  at  a later  date  he  lived  no 
longer  in  the  farmhouse,  but  in  a square  and  sub- 
stantial red-brick  house  in  the  town.  Tempted  by 
Webster’s  account  of  Cranbrook,  we  went  there, 
and  often  occupied  lodgings,  till  the  chance  came 
of  buying  an  old  house,  standing  about  half  a 
mile  out  of  the  town  on  a hill. 

I must  not  yield  to  the  temptation,  which  is 
common  to  all  who  have  gone  through  the  ex- 
perience of  the  joys  of  dabbling  in  bricks  and 
mortar,  of  dwelling  at  a wearisome  length  on  the 


340 


NORMAN  SHAW,  R. A. 


[chap. 


purchase  and  improvement  of  Willesley.  How 
first  we  waited  for  money,  which  was  to  come  to 
my  wife  from  an  old  relation;  how,  when  the  money 
came,  it  was  so  strictly  tied  up  that  it  could  not  be 
used,  but  how  eventually  the  first  step  was  success- 
fully accomplished. 

Then  came  the  question  of  enlargement,  and  of 
beautifying  the  house,  and  this  led  to  my  putting 
the  matter  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Norman  Shaw,  then 
a rising  young  architect. 

Norman  Shaw’s  fame  is  now  world-wide,  and  so 
also  is  the  knowledge  of  the  debt  that  English 
domestic  architecture  owes  to  his  genius  and  origin- 
ality, so  I need  not  dwell  on  the  undoubted  fact  of 
how  much  our  house  owes  to  his  inspiration. 

When  the  question  of  wall-covering  came  up, 
Norman  Shaw  suggested  oak  panelling.  In  these 
days  oak  for  panelling  was  not  easily  come  by,  to 
the  amount  that  was  necessary  for  the  large  living- 
room,  and  many  Wardour  Street  shops  and  kindred 
places  were  hunted  through  in  vain.  Finally  I ap- 
plied to  a tradesman  and  curio  collector  in  Cran- 
brook  High  Street,  and  I can  see  his  queer  old 
face  now  as  he  informed  me,  with  a grin,  that"  he 


WILLESLEY,  CRANBROOK 


XXI] 


MEN  OF  KENT 


34i 


had  a whole  room-full  of  well-seasoned  oak  timber, 
more  than  enough  for  what  I wanted. 

Then  when  Shaw  suggested  stamped  leather  for 
a frieze,  a happy  chance  took  me  through  Great  Port- 
land Street,  and  in  a shop  there  I espied  a quantity 
of  sixteenth-century  stamped  leather  from  an  old 
French  chateau,  which  became  mine  for  nine  or 
ten  pounds,  there  being  no  demand  for  it.  It  was 
Norman  Shaw  himself  who  first  drew  bold  designs 
on  the  soft  new  plaster  of  the  ceiling,  and  who  was 
delighted  to  find  his  ideas  ably  and  conscientiously 
carried  out  by  the  rustic  “ Men  of  Kent,”  the  Cran- 
brook  workmen,  with  a skill  and  verve  that  could 
never  have  been  found  in  Londoners  of  the  same 
calling.  He  made  the  delightful  design  on  the 
gable,  of  the  peacock,  and  the  familiar  words, 
“ Except  the  Lord  build  the  house,  their  labour 
is  but  lost  who  build  it.” 

We  planned  a studio  to  be  built  later,  opening 
out  of  the  dining-room,  so  a blank  space  was  left, 
which,  however,  was  soon  curtained  over  in  a sump- 
tuous fashion  by  the  generosity  of  a friend,  for  one 
day  a young  painter,  of  whom  I was  seeing  a good 
deal,  came  in  to  look  at  the  new  room,  and  noticing 


342 


A COSTLY  GIFT 


[chap. 


the  space,  told  me  he  had  four  curtains  from  an  old 
palace  in  Venice,  which  he  begged  me  to  accept,  as 
they  were  exactly  suited  for  the  room.  Naturally, 
I demurred  greatly  at  receiving  so  costly  and  rare 
a gift,  but  he  pressed  them  on  me,  and  when  I said, 
“ But,  my  dear  fellow,  you  will  very  soon  want  them 
yourself,  for  you  will  be  building  a studio,”  he 
answered,  with  a sad  and  pathetic  expression  on 
his  face,  “ No,  no,  I shall  never  need  them.”  He 
was  apparently  aware,  as  we  were  not,  of  the 
great  delicacy  of  his  state  of  health.  I re- 

member the  curtains  arrived  after  a brief  interval, 
and  in  a very  short  time  my  friend  had  passed 
away. 

One  more  brief  anecdote.  We  had  been  search- 
ing in  many  places,  but  without  avail,  for  an  old- 
fashioned  iron  fire-back,  suitable  for  the  deep 
fireplace  with  its  inglenooks  and  dogs.  One  morn- 
ing, when  the  workmen  were  doing  some  needful 
repairs  in  the  nursery,  I was  suddenly  summoned. 
I had  just  finished  setting  my  palette,  and  was 
considerably  annoyed  at  being  disturbed  at  this 
juncture,  contrary  to  all  rules,  but  I yielded  and 
went  up.  In  taking  down  the  nursery  grate  the 


XXI] 


MY  CHARMING  MODELS 


343 


workmen  had  discovered  the  very  thing  I was 
looking  for — a genuine  fire-back  of  a quaint  and 
delightful  pattern. 

At  Cranbrook,  when  removed  from  the  region  of 
professional  models,  I was  most  fortunate  in  finding 
several  charming  young  people,  who  sat  to  me 
again  and  again,  showing  the  most  admirable 
patience,  and  also  a kindly  and  intelligent  interest 
in  their  arduous  task.  Indeed,  I feel  deeply  in- 
debted to  them  for  a compliment  to  my  artistic 
work,  which  I may  therefore  venture  to  repeat. 
Amongst  the  crowd  of  visitors,  known  and  un- 
known, who  flock  into  studios  on  “Show  Sundays” 
there  came  on  one  occasion  a stranger,  who  talked 
in  most  pleasant  strain  of  the  pictures  on  view, 
adding  that  he  was  pleased  to  see  that  the  character- 
istics he  considered  the  most  marked  of  my  work 
were  as  evident  as  ever.  I asked  to  what  he 
referred.  “Sunshine  and  pretty  women,”  was  his 
prompt  answer. 

Amongst  the  many  difficulties  that  beset  the 
work  of  painters  and  sculptors  is  the  finding  of 
the  models  requisite  to  enable  ones  ideal  to  be 
realised  on  canvas  or  in  marble.  This  is  a trouble 


344 


A BOLD  QUESTION 


[chap. 


that  must  for  ever  vex  the  righteous  soul  of  every 
earnest  limner  of  subject  pictures. 

Of  course,  the  artist  goes  about  with  eyes  open 
for  everything  that  is  beautiful  or  picturesque,  and 
thus  it  often  happens  that  he  sees  some  beautiful 
face  or  form,  some  outline  of  feature,  combination  of 
colour,  or  it  may  be  some  expression  such  as  he  has 
often  yearned  to  see  and  to  be  able  to  paint.  Now 
why  should  he  not  be  permitted  to  express  this 
longing  to  the  happy  owner  of  the  faultless  form 
or  fascinating  feature  with  all  possible  delicacy  and 
courtesy  ? My  contention  is  that  no  properly  con- 
stituted male  or  female  ought  to  be  offended  by 
being  asked  to  sit  as  a model. 

I may  say  that  I have  acted  on  this  principle.  I 
might  quote  one  instance.  I was  once  getting  into 
deep  waters  over  a picture,  the  chief  figure  of  which 
I was  painting  from  a professional  model,  somewhat 
rashly  engaged,  whom  I found  in  no  way  correspon- 
ded to  the  ideal  in  my  mind.  That  very  afternoon, 
as  I left  my  doorstep,  I saw  a young  lady  passing 
by,  who,  as  far  as  I could  judge  from  the  fleeting 
glimpse  I caught,  seemed  to  have  exactly  the  face 
and  expression  I was  wanting.  She  stopped  to 


XXI] 


CROWNED  WITH  SUCCESS 


345 


look  into  the  windows  of  my  neighbour  the  pawn- 
broker, and  the  second  glance  I thus  obtained  was 
also  favourable,  so  I ventured  to  follow  her  down 
the  street,  and  when  she  slightly  slackened  her 
rapid  footsteps  I gained  on  her,  and  then,  turning 
round,  said,  “I  beg  your  pardon,  but  have  you  any 
leisure  to  sit  to  me  to  be  painted  ? I am  an  artist.” 

She  looked  quietly  at  me  and  replied,  to  my 
astonishment,  that  she  had  very  often  been  painted 
by  artists ! We  entered  at  once  into  a business-like 
discussion.  She  raised  no  objection  to  complying 
with  my  request,  but  asked  whether  I would  consent 
to  paint  a portrait  of  her  for  her  mother  in  return 
for  her  services.  It  also  came  out  as  we  talked  that 
she  was  a teacher  in  a girls’  school,  which  I know 
well  by  name,  and  that  she  could  not  promise  any- 
thing but  irregular  sittings,  at  such  times  as  her 
work  would  allow.  So  our  talk  did  not  end  in  any 
arrangement,  as  the  terms  were  too  difficult,  but  at 
the  same  time  I had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that 
I had  acted  with  the  courage  of  my  opinion,  and 
that  not  the  smallest  offence  had  been  given  by  my 
unconventional  proceeding. 

We  had  many  distinguished  neighbours  in  the 


346 


MR.  EDMUND  BASTARD 


[CHAP. 


district,  and  it  was  through  one  of  these,  the  late 
Mr.  Beresford  Hope,  that  I became  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Edmund  Bastard,  of  Kitley,  in  South  Devon. 
He  had  at  the  time  I speak  of  only  recently  come 
into  the  property,  after  a brilliant  career  at  Oxford, 
where  he  had  been  very  intimately  associated  with 
the  High  Church  party.  He  found  the  church  at 
Yealmpton,  close  to  his  property,  in  a very  neglected 
condition,  and  after  discussing  the  matter  with  the 
late  W.  Butterfield,  the  well-known  church  architect, 
he  proposed  to  have  it  completely  restored,  and  to 
have  the  interior  decorated  with  frescoes. 

Mr.  Beresford  Hope  undertook  to  sound  various 
English  artists  on  this  subject.  I well  remember 
his  interview  with  me  and  my  feelings  of  astonish- 
ment when  he  suddenly  turned  round  on  me  with 
the  question,  “ What  would  be  your  views,  Mr. 
Horsley,  as  to  the  way  of  representing  the  Doom  ? ” 
When  I had,  after  a brief  pause,  grasped  the  idea 
that  “the  Doom”  was  the  High  Church  phrase  for 
the  Last  Judgment,  I answered,  “Well,  sir,  I shall 
think  many  times  before  I consent  to  paint  it  at  all, 
and  I could  not  tell  you  how  till  I had  considered 
the  matter  long  and  deeply.”  He  then  produced  a 


XXI]  PROPOjSED  FRESCOES  347 

roll  of  paper  from  his  coat-pocket  and  spread  it  on 
the  table,  asking  my  opinion  on  it.  I think  the 
design  emanated  from  a Belgian  stained-glass 
factory  at  Brussels,  where  Mr.  Hope  had  had  a 
great  deal  of  work  done  for  a chapel  near  Bedge- 
bury.  It  represented  a sort  of  high  vertical 
cupboard  divided  into  shelves,  with  openings  like 
trapdoors,  whence  forms  supposed  to  be  human  in 
ghostly  garments  were  being  assisted  by  winged 
angels,  and  carried  off  to  a hall  of  judgment.  I 
remember  the  supply  of  angels  seemed  quite  un- 
limited. I could  only  say  that  the  representation 
did  not  seem  in  any  way  to  be  based  on  revelation, 
and  that  the  revealed  Word  of  God  seemed  to  me 
the  only  basis  of  all  attempts  at  portraying  such 
themes. 

At  a later  date  I remember  that  Mr.  Bastard, 
when  I showed  him  a design  for  the  Annunciation, 
seemed  distressed  at  the  humility  shown  in  the 
Virgin’s  attitude,  which,  however,  I justified  by  her 
own  words,  “ Behold  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord;  be 
it  unto  me  even  as  Thou  wilt.”  Could  more 
divinely  inspired  words  be  imagined  ? 

Bastard  was  the  gentlest  and  most  amiable  of 


348 


A DISAPPOINTMENT 


[CHAP. 


men,  always  sadly  delicate-looking,  having  greatly 
outgrown  his  strength  as  a boy.  Our  friendship 
matured  quickly.  I saw  a good  deal  of  him,  and  it 
was  with  the  deepest  pleasure  that  I undertook  the 
commission  to  paint  the  series  of  frescoes. 

On  my  return  to  Kensington  I set  vigorously  to 
work  to  execute  my  designs.  One  day  on  opening 
the  morning’s  letters  I was  quite  overcome  by  the 
contents  of  one  from  Bastard  couched  in  these 
words  : “ I think  it  due  to  you  as  a dear  friend  to 
let  you  know  amongst  the  very  first  that  I have 
joined  the  Roman  Catholic  Church.”  I will  not 
dwell  on  the  severe  blow  thus  dealt  to  my  dreams 
of  expressing  my  deepest  self,  as  it  were,  in  these 
frescoes,  but  it  was  indeed  crushing. 

I had  many  letters  from  him  afterwards,  speaking 
in  the  kindest  terms  of  portraits  and  pictures  that 
he  wished  me  to  paint  for  him. 

I saw  him  only  once  again,  not  at  Kitley,  but  at 
another  Devonshire  house,  where  I found  him  sur- 
rounded by  perverts  from  the  Church  of  England. 
I should  perhaps  mention  that  his  wife  belonged 
to  an  old  Roman  Catholic  family. 

On  the  occasion  of  my  visit  I was  met  at  the 


XXI] 


A GUTTA-PERCHA  VIRGIN 


349 


station  by  his  brother,  a much-respected  clergyman, 
then  holding  a family  living.  He  gave  me  a 
melancholy  account  of  his  brothers  bodily  health 
and  mental  depression. 

Mr.  Edmund  Bastard  seemed  unaffectedly  glad 
to  see  me,  and  I had  a long  walk  with  him  about 
the  place.  At  one  corner  of  the  staircase  was  one 
of  those  well-known  statues  of  the  Virgin  apparently 
in  coloured  plaster  elaborately  gilded.  As  we 
passed  it,  he  made  deep  genuflexions  and  crossed 
himself,  commenting  on  the  beauty  of  the  statue. 
I could  not  refrain  from  expressing  a contrary  view, 
it  being  entirely  commonplace,  if  not  actually  vulgar. 
I noticed  also  a deep  crack  round  the  neck  and 
commented  on  it.  “Yes,  but  it  does  not  matter; 
the  whole  figure  is  made  of  gutta-percha,  and  can 
be  easily  repaired/'  A gutta-percha  Virgin  bowed 
down  to  by  a man  possessing  such  a mind  as 
Bastard's ! 

It  was  sadly  evident  that  my  poor  dear  friend  was 
far  gone  in  consumption,  one  of  the  distressing 
symptoms  in  his  case  being  that  of  an  almost 
insatiable  appetite.  But  it  was  a fast  day  in  the 
Roman  Church,  and  he  only  allowed  himself  to  eat 


350 


BASTARD’S  DEATH 


[chap. 


vegetables  and  sweet  dishes,  with  which,  it  was 
painful  to  notice,  it  seemed  impossible  for  him  to 
satisfy  the  craving  caused  by  disease. 

Later  in  the  day  we  parted,  with  irrepressible 
emotion,  but  ill  as  he  was,  I was  by  no  means 
prepared  to  hear  of  his  death,  which  took  place  only 
two  days  later. 

Shortly  afterwards,  to  my  no  small  surprise,  I 
received  a letter  from  his  widow,  whom  I had  not 
met ; she  wrote  touchingly  of  the  deep  feeling 
which  she  knew  existed  between  her  husband  and 
myself,  and  begged  me  to  confer  a favour  upon  her. 
She  said  that  the  last  intelligible  words  that  her 
husband  had  uttered  were  : “ Horsley,  see  him — 
see  Horsley.5’  Could  1 give  her  any  clue  as  to 
what  was  in  his  mind  ? I wrote  that  I was  sure 
that  in  those  last  moments  of  his  faithful  life  it  was 
present  to  his  mind  that  he  had  not  fulfilled  the 
intention,  that  he  had  more  than  once  mentioned  to 
me  in  his  letters,  of  giving  me  a commission  for 
certain  portraits  and  pictures  to  compensate  for  the 
work  that  I was  to  have  done  for  him  for  Yealmpton 
Church,  the  disappointment  about  which  he  had 
known  was  a bitter  professional  blow.  I begged 


‘No.  1,  HIGH  ROW,''  KENSINGTON 

(from  the  garden)  To  face  page  350 


XXI] 


CONCLUSION 


35i 


her  now  to  dismiss  the  whole  subject  from  her  mind, 
for  the  memory  of  the  happy  hours  of  my  brief 
friendship  with  her  dear  husband  was  more  than 
sufficient  to  counterbalance  the  disappointment. 

Thus  was  closed  an  especially  interesting  incident 
of  my  long  professional  life. 

Time  fails,  or  I would  gladly  deliver  myself  on 
various  subjects,  artistic  or  otherwise,  on  which  I 
have  long  meditated.  I have  not  given  the  brief 
disquisition  on  the  Norwich  school  of  painters  of 
which  I spoke,  nor  have  I said  a single  word  about 
what  may  be  called  the  Royal  Academy  question. 
I am  also  quite  aware  how  inadequately  I have 
touched  on  various  important  points  and  interesting 
personalities.  I trust,  however,  that  I shall  not 
cause  pain  to  anyone  by  any  incident  that  I have 
recorded  or  criticism  that  I have  made. 


INDEX 


A 

Adams- Acton,  Mr.,  231 
Adelphi  Theatre,  192 
Africa,  64 

After-dinner  speeches,  326,  332 
Agnew,  Messrs.,  229 
Albemarle,  Lady  Anne,  80 
— , Lord,  78 
Alexandra  Hotel,  316 
Algiers,  64 
Allen,  Mr.,  231 

“Altamont,  Castle  of,”  play  of 
the,  205-7 

Angelo,  Michael,  the  unfinished 
“Tondo,”  292;  his  muscular 
power,  293 
Ansdell,  247 
Antwerp,  182 
Apsley  House,  41 
Aqueous  microbe,  discovery  of  a, 
219 

Arles,  180 

Armitage,  Edward,  awarded  a 
prize  in  cartoon  drawing,  254 
Armstrong,  Lord,  112,  219;  his 
purchase  of  Mr.  Horsley’s  pic- 
ture, 257 

2 A 


| Artists’  Volunteer  Rifle  Corps,  267 
Asphaltum,  use  of,  226 
Asylum  for  Female  Orphans,  6 
Athencewn , extract  from,  103 
! Aumale,  Due  d’,  at  the  siege  of 
Constantine,  88 


Bacon,  Richard  Mackenzie,  75; 
editor  of  the  Norwich  Mercury , 
76  ; his  character,  76  ; delight 
in  Shakespeare’s  plays,  76  ; in- 
timacy with  Lords  Stafford  and 
Leicester,  77  ; at  Holkham,  77 
Bakewell,  101 
Bandinelli,  Baccio,  293 
Barge  House,  37 
Barker,  Mr.,  101 
Barossa,  victory  at,  120 
Barry,  Edward.  271 
Bartholdy,  Felix  Mendelssohn. 

See  Mendelssohn 
Bastard,  Mr.  Edmund,  346 ; on 
restoring  Yealmpton  Church, 
346  ; his  character,  347  ; joins 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church, 
348 ; symptoms  of  consumption, 
349;  death,  350 


353 


354 


INDEX 


Bathe,  Captain  de,  201 

Bathurst,  Lord,  240 

Beatrice,  Princess,  her  birth,  130 ; 

portrait,  130-3 
Beddington,  7 
Bedgebury,  347 
Belgium,  182 

Benedict,  Sir  Julius,  at  a City 
dinner,  325 
— , Mrs.,  194 

Bergeron,  Mr.  Charles,  95 
Bigge,  Mrs.,  109 
Bill,  Mrs.,  53 

Birmingham,  new  park  opened, 
135 

Bishop,  Jim,  the  model,  298  ; his 
appearance  and  character,  298 ; 
inquiring  turn  of  mind,  299, 
300  ; pugilist,  299  ; affray  with 
roughs,  301 ; defence  of  Web- 
ster, 301  ; employed  by  Sir 
William  Boxall,302 ; pigs’-wash, 
303  ; habit  of  drinking,  304  ; 
disappearance,  305  ; special 
constable,  307 
Blackheath  Park,  49 
Blanc,  Louis,  President  of  the 
Workmen’s  Parliament,  95  ; 
charges  against,  95  ; his  appeal, 
96 ; takes  refuge  in  London, 
97  ; at  Sevenoaks,  99 
“ Blind  Man’s  Buff,”  134 
Bourg,  Madame  la  Baronne  de, 
91  ; her  reception  of  John 
Horsley,  91-4 

Boxall,  Sir  William,  enlists 
Bishop’s  services,  302 
Boxing,  lessons  in,  87 
Bridges,  John,  254 
Bristol,  British  Association  meet- 
ing at,  175 


British  Association  meeting  at 
Bristol,  175 

British  Institution,  28,  49 
Brodie,  Sir  Benjamin,  183  ; his 
treatment  in  the  case  of  Mr. 
Brunei,  183-8 
Brompton,  5 

Brunei,  Isambard, hisZz/^tf/Zraw- 
bard  Kingdo7n  Brunei,  187  n.  ; 
letter  from  his  father,  188-90 
Brunei,  Isambard  Kingdom,  169; 
his  marriage,  5,  34  ; theatrical 
performances,  33 ; visit  to  Paris, 
94 ; physical  achievements,  1 70 ; 
his  calmness  and  presence  of 
mind,  170,  172,  174;  adventure 
in  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral,  170: 
the  Thames  Tunnel,  1 7 1, 172-4; 
joins  the  Surrey  yeomanry,  17 1 ; 
the  Suspension  Bridge  at  Clif- 
ton, 174-7;  sketches,  177; 
journeys  in  South  Wales,  177  ; 
his  work  on  the  railway,  178  ; 
his  britzsha , the  “ Flying 
Hearse,”  178  ; potency  in  snor- 
ing, 178  ; survey  for  the  Taff 
Vale  Railway,  178  ; journey  in 
Italy,  179-82  ; swallows  a half- 
sovereign,  183  ; treatment  for 
its  removal,  1 83-8  ; letter  to 
his  son,  188-90 

Brunei,  Sir  Mark  Isambard,  34 ; 
his  invention  of  the  block 
machinery,  169;  the  Thames 
Tunnel,  170 

| Brunei,  Mrs.,  her  tableaux  vivants, 
194 

j Buckley,  Miss  Arabella,  51 
— , Sir  Henry,  51 
— , John,  51 
— , — Wall,  66 

— , Willy,  14,  44;  his  encounter 
with  thieves,  45-7 


INDEX 


355 


Burton,  Miss,  66 
Butler,  Mr.,  197 

— , Mrs.,  200.  See  Kemble,  Fanny 
Butterfield,  W,  346 

C 

C,  Marchioness  of,  236 
Calais,  180 

“ Calepin,  Sir,  rescuing  Serena,” 
227 

Callcott,  Sir  Augustus  Wall,  4 ; 
his  appearance,  4 ; wife,  62  ; 
“ Harvest  in  the  Highlands,” 
64 ; his  picture  of  the  mouth 
of  the  Tyne  River,  12 1 ; his 
study  in  oil,  238  ; admiration 
of  Turner’s  work,  246 
— , Betsy,  her  appearance,  4 ; 
artistic  temperament,  4;  charac- 
ter, 5.  See  Horsley 
— , Dr.,  1 ; his  appearance,  4 ; 

daughters,  4 
— , John,  191 

— , Lady,  her  first  marriage,  62; 
portrait,  62  ; second  marriage, 

63  ; visitors,  64;  Little  Arthur* s 
History  of  England  and  The 
Scripture  Herbal , 65  ; account 
of  an  earthquake  in  Chili,  65  ; 
reply  to  Greenough’s  review,  65 

— , Sophy,  her  appearance,  4 ; 

drawing  of,  25 
— , William,  H.,  16 
Cambridge,  visit  to,  66 
— , Trinity  College,  66;  Hall,  69; 

Town  and  Gown  rows,  69 
Campbell,  his  opinion  of  Africa, 

64 

Campden  Grove,  113,  124 
— House,  124 
Cannes,  180 


Cape  Coast,  Governor  of,  103 
Cardiff  to  Merthyr  Tydvil,  rail- 
way, 178 

Carmelite  Monastery,  Kensing- 
ton, 11 

Cartoons,  charcoal,  250;  exhibition 
of,  254  ; awards  in,  254 
Cartwright,  the  dentist,  72  ; his 
extraordinary  physique,  72 ; sup- 
ply of  tickets  for  the  theatre,  73 
— , “ Sam,”  at  Cambridge,  72  ; 
his  fight  with  roughs,  74 
| Catholic  Emancipation  Act,  76 
j Cerito,  the  danseuse,  198 
{ Chalon,  Alfred,  his  drawing  of 
Taglioni  “ La  Sylphide,”  198 
Chalons-sur-Saone,  180 
I Chantrey,  Sir  Francis,  his  be- 
j quest,  225  ; eccentricity,  230  ; 
workshops,  230 ; bust  of  George 
III.,  231 ; assisted  by  Stothard, 
231  ; “Sleeping  Children,”  232 
! Charcoal  drawings,  250 ; “ fixing,” 
253;  exhibitions,  254;  award  of 
prizes,  254 
Charles  I.,  102,  no 
-II,  114 

Chartist  riots,  305-12 
“Children  of  Israel,”  oratorio, 
Peter  Powell’s  performance  of, 
208 

Chili,  account  of  an  earthquake 
in,  65 

Chorley,  Henry  F.,  200 
Church  Lane,  124 
Clementi,  Muzio,  294 
Clifton,  Suspension  Bridge  at,  174 
Coaches,  four-horse,  fares  of,  41 
Coke,  Thomas,  “of  Norfolk,”  77 
— , William,  79,  81 


356 


INDEX 


Colborne,  Lord,  on  public  speak- 
ing, 326 

Commercial  Road,  Lambeth,  35 
Consort,  H.R.H.  Prince,  130;  at 
Birmingham,  135  ; his  indis- 
position, 135  ; artistic  taste,  136 ; 
character,  136;  dislike  of  far- 
fetched jokes,  137  ; President 
of  the  Commission  of  Fine 
Arts  for  the  decoration  of  the 
Houses  of  Parliament,  249 ; 
order  for  a fresco,  256 
Constable,  54 

Constables,  special,  306 ; instruc- 
tions, 306 

Constantine,  siege  of,  picture  on, 
88 

Cook,  Miss  Eliza,  99 
Cooke,  Edward,  55 
— , T.  P.,  192 

Cope,  Charles  West,  awarded  a 
prize  in  cartoon  drawing,  254; 
his  interest  in  Bishop,  the  i 
model,  299 

Cornelius,  250;  his  method  of 
criticising  an  art  amateur,  252 
Cornice  road,  180 
Cornwall,  Barry,  his  poem  “ King 
Death,”  32 
Cossey,  75 
Cragside,  112,  219 
Crake,  Vandeleur,  69 
Cranbrook,  338 ; Church,  339 
Creswick,  247 
Culloden,  2 

Cumberland,  Duke  of,  2 
D 

Datchet,  45 
Davis,  Mr.,  236 


Delaroche,  Madame,  85 
— , Paul,  84 ; “ The  Hemicycle,”  84 
Denman,  Lord,  149;  anecdote  of, 
149 

Devonshire,  Duke  of,  portrait  of, 
264 

Dickens,  Charles,  length  of  his 
speech  at  the  Royal  Academy 
banquet,  333 
Diploma  Gallery,  292 
Doris , 62 

Douro,  Marchioness  of,  237 
Dublin,  290 

Dulwich  College, 294;  Gallery, 294 
Dumplings,  Norfolk,  the  fame  of, 
83 

Dundas,  142 
— , General,  65 
Dunsandle,  Lord,  291 
Duvernay,  the  dansense , 198;  her 
marriage,  199;  character,  199 

E 

Earthquake  in  Chili,  account  of,  65 
Eastlake,  Sir  Charles  Locke, 
director  of  the  National  Gallery, 
228  ; secretary  of  the  Commis- 
sion of  Fine  Arts  for  the  deco- 
ration of  the  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment, 249  ; on  the  subject  of 
the  fresco  for  the  Poets’  Hall, 
255  ; President  of  the  Royal 
Academy,  259  ; his  appearance, 
259  ; hospitality,  273 
Eden,  Mr.,  229 

Edinburgh  National  Gallery,  por- 
trait of  Mrs.  Graham  in,  118 
Eliot,  George,  159 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  102  ; her  pro- 
gress through  Cranbrook,  338 


INDEX 


Elizabeth,  servant  to  Mr.  Sheep-  j 
shanks,  55 

Elslers,  the  sisters,  198,  200 
Ely  Cathedral,  74 
Empson,  66 

Eugenie,  Empress,  character  of 
her  bows,  125,  126;  compared 
with  Queen  Victoria,  125 

F 

Faraday,  Michael,  his  lectures, 
216;  style  of  delivery,  217; 
appearance,  217;  character, 
217  ; expressions  of  faith,  218 
Farnley,  280 

Fawkes,  Mr.,  his  collection  of 
Turner’s  pictures,  280-3 
— , Mrs.,  280,  281 
Fearnley,  his  story  of  an  art 
amateur,  251-3 

“ Ferry-boat,  the,  at  Marlow,”  242 
Fisher,  Mrs.,  51  | 

Flaxman,  his  Odyssey , 194 
Fog,  London,  adventures  in  a,  j 

313-21 

Footpads,  1 17 

Fourpenny-piece,  invention  of,  27 
Fraser,  Alexander,  274,  275  ; his 
songs,  277 

Fresco-painting,  260-2 ; exhibi- 
tion of,  for  the  decoration  of  j 
the  Houses  of  Parliament,  255  j 
Frost,  W.  E.,  254 
Fuseli,  Keeper  of  the  Royal  I 
Academy,  293 

G 

Gainsborough,  his  portrait  of  Mrs. 

Graham,  118 
Garrard,  Mr.,  307 


357 

“ Geese  driven  through  the  street 
of  Cookham,”  242 
Genoa,  180 

George  III.,  48, 235  ; bust  of,  231 
— IV.,  on  the  appearance  of  Sir 
T.  Lawrence,  26  ; his  present 
of  a giraffe,  235  ; orders  its 
portrait,  236 

St.  George’s  Cathedral,  7 
Chapel,  45 

Gerome,  at  the  Royal  Academy 
Club  dinner,  213 

Giraffe  presented  to  George  IV., 
235  ; its  portrait  painted,  236 
Gladstone,  Dr.,  Michael  Faraday , 
218 

Graham,  Captain,  62 
— , General,  his  adventure  with 
a highwayman,  118;  services 
in  the  army,  120;  created  a 
peer,  120  ; portrait  of  his  wife, 
120 

— , Mrs.,  her  first  marriage,  62  ; 
portrait,  62  ; governess  to  the 
Queen  of  Portugal,  63  ; second 
marriage,  63.  See  Callcott,  Lady 
— , Mrs.,  her  portrait,  118,  120; 

courage,  1 1 9 ; death,  120 
Grain,  Corney,  215 
Granet,  Eugenie,  14 
Grant,  Sir  Francis,  President  of 
the  Royal  Academy,  263,  317, 
327  ; early  want  of  training, 
264  ; errors  in  perspective,  264  ; 
his  portrait  of  the  Duke  of 
Devonshire,  264 ; independ- 
ence of  spirit,  265  ; hospitality, 
273  ; illness,  328 
— , Lady,  274,  328 
“ Gravel-digging  at  Craven  Hill,” 
116 

Gravel  pits  of  Kensington,  1 1 5 


358 


INDEX 


Gravesend,  104 

Greenough,  secretary  of  the 
Geological  Society,  his  review, 
65 

Grossmith,  George,  215 
H 

H addon  Hall,  101 
Haden,  Sir  Seymour,  245 
“ Hal,  Prince,  taking  the  Crown 
from  his  Father’s  Bedside,” 233, 
256 ; applications  for  its  pur- 
chase, 257  ; size,  257 
Hamlet,  tableaux  from,  201 
Harding,  J.  D.,  240 
Hardy,  F.  D.,  338 
Harker,  330 

“ Harlot’s  Progress,”  292 
“ Harold,  the  Finding  of  the 
Dead  Body  of,”  228 
Hart,  Solomon,  181 
“ Harvest  in  the  Highlands,”  64 
Hawes,  Sir  Benjamin,  34,  249 
— , Dr.  B.,  34  ; founds  the  Royal  j 
Humane  Society,  34 
— , Thomas,  36 ; his  riding  lessons, 
36 

— , William,  36 
“ Hay,  Pea-Green,”  199 
Henschel,  his  singing  of  St.  Paul , 
159 

Hesse,  250 

Highwaymen,  117  ; adventure 
with  a,  1 18 

Hilton,  William,  Keeper  of  the 
Royal  Academy,  27  ; his  pic- 
tures, 225 ; use  of  asphaltum, 
226  ; “ Sir  Calepin  rescuing 
Serena,”  227;  “The  Finding 


of  the  Dead  Body  of  Harold,” 
228 

Hogarth,  William,  224 
— , a mounter  of  drawings,  245 
Holkham,  77 ; shooting  parties 
at,  81 

Holland,  Sir  Henry,  140 
Hooghe,  Peter  de,  53 
Hootes,  the  de,  108 
Hope,  Mr.  Beresford,  346 
Horsley,  Charles,  5 
— , Fanny,  5,  112 
— , John  C.,  R.A.,  his  father,  1 ; 
mother,  1,  4;  Aunt  Wall,  2 ; his 
drawing  proclivities,  4,  6,  16  ; 
brothers  and  sisters,  5 ; anec- 
dotes of  his  home  in  Brompton, 
5,  8 ; first  visit  to  the  opera,  9 ; 
at  school,  1 1 ; his  taste  for 
dancing,  it,  43,  148 ; first  fight, 
12;  first  ball,  13;  his  bosom 
friend,  14  ; first  love,  14 ; por- 
traits, 16  ; sitters,  16  ; lessons 
in  drawing,  17 ; decision  to 
study  painting,  22  ; at  Sass’s 
Academy,  23  ; drawing  of  his 
Aunt  Sophy,  25  ; interest  of  Sir 
T.  Lawrence,  25  ; his  prizes, 
26 ; admission  to  the  Royal 
Academy,  27  ; exhibits  at  the 
British  Institution,  28  ; his 
picture,  “ Rival  Musicians,”  28, 
49,  52  ; gains  the  medal  for  the 
antique,  28-30 ; theatrical  per- 
formances, 31  ; riding  lessons, 
36  ; accident  while  riding,  3 7- 
40 ; his  walking  powers,  40-3 ; 
walk  to  Windsor,  45  ; portraits 
of  Moscheles  and  his  wife,  48  ; 
pictures  in  the  Royal  Academy, 
48;  “Youth  and  Age,”  51; 
friendship  with  Sheepshanks, 
52  ; “The  Pride  of  the  Village,” 


INDEX 


359 


58  ; visit  to  Cambridge,  66-74  I I 
introduction  to  Mr.  Peacocke, 
66-8 ; impression  of  Trinity  j 
Hall,  69 ; acquaintances,  69  ; i 
“ Rent  Day  in  H addon  Hall,”  | 
73,  103  ; visit  to  Norwich,  76  ; j 
at  Holkham,  77-82  ; his  pocket  I 
edition  of  Shakespeare,  83 ; j 
visits  to  Paris,  84,  94 ; at  ! 
Versailles,  90 ; his  sketch  of  j 
an  old  blind  man,  90 ; reception  | 
by  Madame  la  Baronne  de  | 
Bourg,  91-4 ; at  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies,  95  ; meeting  with 
Louis  Blanc,  97,  99  ; at  Seven- 
oaks,  98  ; Haddon  Hall,  101  ; 
Ightham  Mote,  105-7  ; his  pic- 
ture of  the  hall,  109  ; family 
history,  1 10-12;  at  Cragside, 

1 12  ; account  of  Old  Kensing- 
ton, 1 13-17  ; on  the  destruction 
of  oil- pictures,  120-2;  his  early 
memories  of  Queen  Victoria, 

1 23-39  ; on  the  appointment  of 
Miss  Skerrett,  126;  his  portrait 
of  Princess  Beatrice,  129-33  > 
birth  of  a son,  130;  on  Prince 
Consort,  135-9 ; his  friends, 
145,  169,  203,  235  ; proficiency 
in  the  polka,  148 ; memories 
of  Mendelssohn,  151-67;  his 
habit  of  blushing,  161  ; on  the 
art  of  music,  167  ; friendship 
with  I.  K.  Brunei,  169  ; sensa- 
tions on  crossing  the  suspension 
bridge  at  Clifton,  176;  com- 
mission on  its  erection,  177  ; 
journeys  in  Wales,  177  ; in  Italy, 
179-82 ; at  Newton’s  Hotel, 

19 1 ; at  the  Adelphi  Theatre, 

192  ; tableaux  vivants,  193,  201 ; 
on  the  performances  of  Peter 
Powell,  203-11,  215  ; and  John 
Parry,  211-15  ; at  the  Royal 
Academy  Club  Dinner,  213 ; 


attends  Faraday’s  lectures,  216 ; 
on  Huxley’s  address,  219-21  ; 
opinion  of  him,  222  ; on  fashion 
in  art,  224 ; on  the  use  of 
asphaltum,  226 ; on  restoring 
pictures,  228  ; introduction  to 
Chantrey,  230 ; prize  for  the 
picture  of  Prince  Hal,  233,  256 ; 
friendship  with  Thomas  Web- 
ster, 235;  political  views,  236  ; 
on  the  technique  of  painting 
in  oil  colour,  238  ; on  the  use 
of  “ permanent  white,”  240-4  ; 
on  the  merits  of  Walker’s  pic- 
tures, 242  ; on  the  rival  merits 
of  real  and  French  ultramarine, 
244;  on  Turner’s  picture,  “The 
Snowdon  Range,”  245  ; on  the 
competition  for  the  decoration 
of  the  Houses  of  Parliament, 
249;  wrinkles  for  charcoal  draw- 
ings, 250,  253  ; awarded  prizes, 
254, 256 ; subject  of  the  cartoon, 
254;  of  the  fresco,  255  ; order 
from  the  Prince  Consort,  256; 
applications  for  the  purchase  of 
his  picture,  “ Prince  Hal,”  257  ; 
on  the  Presidents  of  the  Royal 
Academy,  258-73 ; fresco  paint- 
ing, 260-2 ; treasurer  to  the 
Royal  Academy,  270 ; at  the 
funeral  service  of  Lord  Leigh- 
ton, 271  ; hospitalities  of  the 
Presidents,  273  ; on  the  com- 
mittee for  the  winter  exhibitions, 
279  ; on  Turner’s  collection  of 
pictures  at  Farnley,  280-4 ; 
appeal  on  the  treatment  of  his 
bequest  to  the  nation,  285-7  ; 
on  the  genuineness  of  “ old 
masters,”  287  ; the  work  of  col- 
lecting, 289 ; his  visit  to  Ireland, 
290 ; on  the  three  neglected 
picture  galleries,  292-4 ; his  first 
cigar,  296 ; professional  friends, 


360 


INDEX 


298 ; on  Bishop,  the  model, 
298-305  ; on  the  Chartist  riots, 
305-12  ; enrolled  special  con- 
stable, 307  ; Headmaster  of  the 
Figure  Class  in  the  Govern- 
ment School  of  Design,  310; 
his  adventure  in  a London  fog, 
313-17;  first  appearance  at  a 
City  dinner,  323  ; on  after- 
dinner  speeches,  326-37 ; at  the 
Mansion  House  banquet,  328- 
31  ; at  Cranbrook,  339 ; on 
the  purchase  and  decoration  of 
Willesley,  340-3  ; on  the  diffi- 
culties in  finding  models,  343 ; 
his  design  for  the  Annunciation, 

347  ; friendship  with  Bastard, 

348  ; commission  to  paint  a 
series  of  frescoes,  348  ; on  the 
death  of  Bastard,  350 

Horsley,  Mrs.  J.,  132  ; at  the  Man- 
sion House  dinner,  330 

— , Mary,  5 ; her  marriage,  34 

— , Miss,  132 

— , Sophy,  5 ; her  opera  The  Ma- 
gician, 31  ; acquires  the  art  of 
waltzing,  44 

— , Victor  Alexander  Haden,  his 
birth,  130 

— , Walter,  316;  his  inspection 
by  Queen  Victoria,  132 

— , William,  1 ; his  wife,  4 ; sons 
and  daughters,  5 ; organist  to 
the  Asylum  for  F emale  Orphans, 
6 ; character  of  his  after-dinner 
speeches,  327 

— , Mrs.  W.,  her  appearance,  4 ; 
artistic  temperament,  4 ; char- 
acter, 5 

— , village  of,  112  ; castle,  113 

Hume,  Joey,  26  ; inventor  of  the 
fourpenny-piece,  27 

Huxley,  Professor,  his  lecture  on 


Tyndall’s  discovery  of  a mi- 
crobe, 219-21  ; lucid  style,  220  ; 
humour,  221  ; admirers,  222 

I 

Ightham  Mote,  98, 104-7  ; owners 
of,  108 
Inskip,  226 
Ireland,  visit  to,  290 
Irving,  Washington, “Bracebridge 
Hall,”  1 1 2 ; his  account  of  the 
performance  of  Peter  Powell, 
210 

Isle  of  Wight,  61 
Italy,  Journey  in,  179 

J 

Jackson,  Dr.,  333 

Jesus  College,  Cambridge,  69 

John,  King,  102 

St.  John’s,  Waterloo  Bridge  Road, 
Mendelssohn’s  performance  on 
the  organ,  163 

Johnson,  Dr.,  his  estimate  of 
Shakespeare’s  powers,  83 
Jones,  Dr.  Bence,  his  memoir  of 
Faraday,  218 

— , Mr.  George,  librarian  of  the 
Academy,  232  ; his  resemblance 
to  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  232 
— , Sir  Thomas,  President  of  the 
Hibernian  Academy,  290 
“Jour  des  Morts,  Le,”  339 

K 

Keate,  Sir  Richard,  40 
Keen,  Charles,  167 
Kemble,  Adelaide,  her  voice,  193  ; 
appearance,  193  ; resemblance 


INDEX  361 


to  Sarah  Siddons,  195  ; mar-  1 
riage,  197  ; at  the  opera,  197 
Kemble,  Charles,  193 
— , Fanny,  her  first  appearance 
on  the  stage,  193 ; marriage,  197  ! 
Kennington  Common,  meeting  at, 
308 

Kensington  Dispensary,  11 

— Gardens,  1 1 3 ; the  walls,  114  ; I 
yew  hedges,  1 14 ; the  gravel  j 
pits,  1 15 

— , old,  1 13 

— Palace,  2 ; the  orangery,  2 

— Road,  first  omnibus  on  the,  40  j 
Key,  Mr.  Aston,  184 

King’s  College,  Cambridge,  70 
Kingsley,  Rev.  W.,  284 
Kirkpatrick,  71 
Kitley,  346 

Klingemann,  Carl,  151,  165 
Knightsbridge  Abbey,  147  ; smok-  j 
ing  rooms,  149  ; habituds,  149 
Knole  Park,  98 


Lamartine,  96  1 

Lambeth,  Commercial  Road,  35  | 

Landon,  Letitia  Elizabeth,  her  ! 
criticism  on  “ Rent  Day  in 
Haddon  Hall,”  103 
Landseer,  Charles,  276 ; at  Ight- 
ham  Mote,  107 

Landseer,  Sir  Edwin,  53 ; his  por- 
trait of  Mr.  Wells’s  dog,  56-8  ; 

“ Harvest  in  the  Highlands,” 
64 ; admiration  for  Miss 
Skerrett,  128 ; his  faculty  of 
story-telling,  137,  274 ; anec- 
dotes, 137-9,  303  ; his  picture  I 
of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  237  ; I 


rapid  painting,  238  ; his  error 
in  perspective,  265 
Lansdowne,  Marchioness  of,  127 
Lawrence,  Mr.,  185 
— , Sir  Thomas,  President  of 
the  Royal  Academy,  25,  258  ; 
interest  in  John  Horsley,  25  ; 
death,  26  ; appearance,  26  ; his 
portrait  of  Mrs.  Graham,  62  ; 
method  of  portrait-painting,  63 
Leech,  John,  167 
Leicester,  Lord,  77  ; his  blindness, 
78  ; second  marriage,  79-81 
Leighton,  Lord,  President  of  the 
Royal  Academy,  266 ; his 
general  accomplishments,  266  ; 
services  in  the  Artists’ Volunteer 
Rifle  Corps,  267;  punctuality, 
267 ; characteristics,  268  ; hospi- 
tality, 268  ; musical  gatherings, 
268-70  ; sufferings  from  heart 
disease,  270 ; burial  service,  271 ; 
on  public  speaking,  335 
Leslie,  Charles  Robert,  53;  his 
method  of  telling  anecdotes,  53 ; 
his  renderings  of  Shakespeare’s 
characters,  54  ; delineation  of 
his  personal  friends,  54 ; on  the 
performance  of  Peter  Powell, 
210 

Lewes,  Mr.  George,  159 
— , Mrs.  George,  159 
Lewis,  Sir  George  Cornewall,  his 
opinion  of  Prince  Consort,  136 
Lichfield  Cathedral,  232 
Lincoln’s  Inn  Fields,  Soane  Mu- 
seum in,  292 

Lindsay,  Mr.,  Fellow  of  Dulwich 
College,  294 

Linnell,  John,  his  landscape, 
“ Gravel  - digging  at  Craven 
Hill,”  1 16 ; on  the  use  of  “ per- 


362 


INDEX 


manent  white,”  240 ; on  the 
merits  of  real  ultramarine,  244 
Liverpool,  Public  Gallery  at,  226 
London,  City  dinners,  322 
— fog,  adventures  in  a,  313-21 
Long  Horsley,  Castle  of,  no,  113 
Longman,  Mrs.,  142 
— , Tom,  142 
Lough,  the  sculptor,  35 
Luard,  John,  1 10 
— , Major,  109 

Luxembourg  Palace,  Workmen’s 
Parliament  at,  95 
Lynedoch,  Lord,  120 
Lyons,  180 

M 

Macaulay,  Lord,  142,  188 
, Mr.,  255 

Maclean,  Mr.,  Governor  of  Cape 
Coast,  103 

Maclise,  Daniel,  his  praise  of 
Mulready’s  work,  50 ; visit  to 
Mr.  Vernon,  60 ; watching  the 
ducks,  61  ; on  the  loss  of  his  | 
collection  of  pictures,  259  ; his 
appearance,  259  ; tribute  to  his 
memory,  333 

Manners,  Sir  George,  his  elope- 
ment, 102 

Mansion  House,  banquet  at  the, 
327 

Marble  Arch,  23 

Mathews,  Charles,  57 

Maule,  Miss  Fanny,  Abbess,  147; 

her  dancing  class,  148 
— , George,  145  ; his  memory,  146 ; 

founds  an  abbey,  147 
Melbourne,  Lord,  221 


Mendelssohn,  Felix,  on  the  musi- 
cal compositions  of  William 
Horsley,  1 ; his  visits  to  London, 
1 5 1,  160;  appearance,  152; 
fascination  of  manner,  152; 
sensitive  nature,  153,  155;  ex- 
tempore playing,  154,  156-8; 
his  kindness,  155;  duets  with 
Moscheles,  156;  joyous  nature, 
158;  oratorios,  159,  165;  per- 
formances on  the  organ,  160, 
163  ; rehearsals,  161  ; walks  in 
London,  161,  164;  control  over 
orchestras,  166;  sense  of  humour, 
166  ; sketches,  167 
I Merchant  Taylors  Company,  mas- 
ter of  the,  story  of,  323 
Merritt,  Mr.  Henry,  his  skill  in 
restoring  pictures,  228 
Merthyr  Tydvil  to  Cardiff  rail- 
way, 178 
Mestre,  182 

Microbe,  aqueous,  discovery  of  a, 
219 

Milan,  182 

Millais,  Sir  John  Everett,  Presi- 
dent of  the  Royal  Academy, 
I 243,  272  ; “ The  Widow’s  Mite,” 
272  ; artistic  qualities,  272 ; 
illness  and  death,  273 
Millies,  Monckton,  142  ; his  sobri- 
quet, “ Cool  of  the  Evening,” 
143;  treatment  of  Sidney  Smith, 
143 ; inventor  of  the  white 
waistcoat,  144 

Models,  difficulties  in  finding,  343 
Monk,  General,  1 1 1 
Monochrome  painting,  239 
Moore,  Tom,  142;  his  recitations, 
142 

Morgan,  Lady,  202 
Moscheles,  Ignace,  1 5 1 ; portrait 


INDEX 


363 


of,  48 ; his  extempore  duets 
with  Mendelssohn,  156-8 
Moscheles,  Mrs.,  152,  159 
Mulready,  John,  18 
— , Michael,  18 
— , Paul,  1 7,  18,  21 
— , William,  10,  17  ; his  marriage, 
18;  sons,  18,  20;  separation 
from  his  wife,  18  ; his  kind 
heart,  19;  his  picture,  “The 
Fight  Interrupted,”  20 ; fond- 
ness for  praise,  50  ; adventure 
with  a footpad,  1 17 
Munich,  182  ; school  of  art,  250, 
25  3 

Murray,  John,  64 
N 

Napier,  Lord,  his  History  of  the 
Peninsular  War,  126 
Nash,  Joseph,  a member  of  the 
old  Water  Colour  Society,  104 
Nasmyth,  Patrick,  his  works,  35 
National  Gallery,  227,  228;  treat- 
ment of  Turner’s  pictures  in 
the,  285 

National  Portrait  Gallery,  62 
Nelson,  Lord,  7 
Neukomm,  Chevalier,  32 
New  Orleans,  14 
Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  191 
Newton’s  Hotel,  191 
Nice,  180 
Nismes,  180 

Norfolk  dumplings,  the  fame  of,  83 
Northumberland,  no 
Norwich,  75  ; school  of  art,  75  ; 
visit  to,  76 ; meetings  of  the 
Shakespearean  enthusiasts,  82 
— Mercury , 76 


O 

O’Connor,  Feargus,  305 
O’Hagan,  Lord,  at  the  Mansion 
House  dinner,  330 
Oil  colour,  painting  in,  238 
Oil  pictures,  injury  to,  120-2 ; 

competitive  exhibition  of,  272 
“ Old  Masters,”  genuineness  of, 
287  ; collecting,  289 
Omnibus,  the  first,  40 
Onion,  293 
Orme,  Mr.,  116 

Orphans,  Female,  Asylum  for,  6 
Ostade,  Isaac,  his  etchings,  49 
Ouless,  W.  W.,  on  collecting  pic- 
tures for  exhibition,  290 
Owen,  Sir  Richard,  length  of  his 
speeches,  336 

P 

Page,  Cyril,  149 

Painting,  fresco,  260-2 ; mono- 
chrome, 239  ; in  oil  colour,  238 
Palace  Court,  Bayswater,  116 
Palmerston,  Lord,  length  of  his 
speech  on  “the  Greek  question,” 
332 

Paris,  visits  to,  84,  94  ; Red  Re- 
publican meetings,  94;  Cham- 
ber of  Deputies,  debate  in, 
95-7  ; formation  of  a Work- 
men’s Parliament,  95 
Parliament,  Houses  of,  Royal 
Commission  of  Fine  Arts  for 
the  decoration  of,  249 ; frescoes, 
260  ; destruction  of,  262 
Parris,  E.  T.,  254 
Parry,  John,  21 1 ; his  perfect 
touch,  212  ; nervousness,  212, 
215  ; at  the  Royal  Academy 


364 


INDEX 


Club  dinner,  213;  his  trumpet 
obligato  performance,  214 

St.  Paul’s  Cathedral,  Brunei’s  ad- 
venture in,  170;  Mendelssohn’s 
performance  on  the  organ,  160 

Paume , feu  de,  meaning  of  the 
term,  87  n. 

Pawley,  Mr.,  98 

Peacocke,  Mr.,  tutor  of  Trinity 
College,  66 ; his  appearance,  67  ; 
treatment  of  John  Horsley,  67 
Peel  Towers,  113 
Peninsular  War,  120,  126 
Pennethorne,  Mr.,  285 
“ Penny  Wedding,  The,”  134 
“PerditadistributingherFlowers,” 
54 

“ Permanent  white,”  use  of,  in 
water-colour  drawings,  240,  243 
St.  Peter’s,  Rome,  first  view  of,  182 
Philharmonic  Society,  rehearsals 
of  the,  166 
Phillips,  Henry,  149 
Picture-dealers,  289 
Pictures,  subject,  origin  of,  224 ; 
the  use  of  asphaltum  in,  226  ; 
restoring,  228  ; “ old  masters,” 
genuineness  of,  287  ; collecting, 
289 

Pigs’-wash,  story  of,  303 
Pitman,  Rev.  John,  8 
Police,  London,  measure  for  es- 
tablishing, 1 17 

Polka,  introduction  of  the,  148 
Portugal,  Queen  of,  63 
Poussin,  Nicolas,  his  pictures,  294 
Powell,  Peter,  203  ; his  gifts,  203  ; 
appearance,  203  ; favourite  re- 
creation, 203  ; histrionic  powers, 
203  ; repertoire , 204  ; his  play  of 


the  Castle  of  Altamont , 205-7; 
oratorio,  The  Children  of  Israel, 
208 ; his  vocal  powers,  209 ; 
character  of  his  performance, 
210  ; ballet  dance,  215 
“ Pride  of  the  Village,  The,”  58 
Procter,  his  poem  “ King  Death,” 
3i 

Procter,  Adelaide,  34 
R 

Races,  walking,  42 
Reading,  Assizes  at,  149 
Redgrave,  298 
— , Mr.  Samuel,  309 
Redleaf,  Penshurst,  55 
Reform  Bill,  76 

“ Rent  Day  at  Haddon  Hall,”  73 ; 
criticism  on,  103 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  his  picture 
“The  Tragic  Muse,”  195;  his 
method  of  painting,  239  ; hospi- 
tality, 278 

Rhine,  the,  182  ; sketches  on  the, 
282 

Richmond,  George,  279 
Rickman,  William,  145  ; founds 
an  abbey,  147  ; abbot,  147 
“ Rival  Musicians,”  28,  49,  52 
Roberts,  David,  240 ; on  the 
merits  of  French  ultramarine, 
244 ; his  appearance,  274 ; story 
of,  274-8 

Robinson,  the  line-engraver,  54 
Rollin,  Ledru,  96 
Rome,  visit  to,  181  ; St.  Peter’s, 
impression  of,  182 
Rossini,  his  opera  II  Crociato  in 
Egitto , 9 
Rothbury,  no 


INDEX 


365 


Rotherfield,  Sussex,  51 
Royal  Academy,  admission  to 
the,  27 

banquets,  speeches  at,  333 

Club  dinner,  213 

Diploma  Gallery,  292 

, Presidents  of,  258;  hospi- 
talities, 273 

winter  exhibitions,  76,  279 

— Humane  Society  founded,  34 

— Institution,  lecture  at  the,  219 
Rugby,  294 

S 

Sartoris,  Mr.,  197 
— , Mrs.,  201.  See  Kemble,  Ade- 
laide 

Sass’s  Academy,  23  ; customs  on 
entering,  24 
Schnorr,  250 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  his  journal,  265  ; 

estimate  of  Sir  F.  Grant,  265 
Sedgwick,  Adam,  66 ; at  Cam- 
bridge, 68 ; discussion  with 
Whewell,  68 
Selby,  Sir  William,  108 
Selous,  H.  C.,  254 
Sevenoaks,  98 
Severn,  Joseph,  254 
Shakespeare,  the  worship  of,  76, 
82  ; edition  of  his  plays,  83  ; 
estimate  of  Dr.  Johnson,  83 
Shaw,  Mr.  Norman,  340 
Shee,  Sir  Martin  Archer,  President 
of  the  Royal  Academy,  29,  258 ; 
on  the  nature  of  fresco-painting, 
259 

Sheepshanks,  Mr.  John,  his  taste 
for  art,  49  : art  collections,  49  ; 
devotion  to  floriculture,  49 ; 


appearance,  5 1 ; his  Wednesday 
dinners,  52  ; impatience,  53  ; his 
servant  Elizabeth,  55 
Sheepshanks,  Collection  in  South 
Kensington  Museum,  10,  28,  52 
! Sheep shanksiana  gra?idiflora , 49 
I Shelley,  Sir  Percy  Bysshe,  1 1 
I Siddons,  Sarah,  195 
I Silver  Street,  Bayswater,  45 
• Skerrett,  Colonel,  126 
— , Miss  Marianne,  her  height, 
1 26 ; appearance  and  character, 
1 26 ; her  position  in  the  Queen’s 
household,  127  ; view  of  her 
responsibilities,  128;  illegibility 
of  her  handwriting,  129 
Slater,  Mr.  Edward,  11 
“ Sleeping  Children,”  232 
“ Smala,  La,”  86 
Smart,  Sir  George,  21 1 
I Smirke,  R.A.,  his  pictures,  34 
Smith,  Albert,  215 
— , Sidney,  140,  142  ; his  sobriquet 
for  Monckton  Milnes,  143 
Smythe,  Professor  of  Modern 
History  at  Cambridge,  71 
: “ Snowdon  Range,  The,”  245 
I Soane  Museum,  292 
i Somerset  House,  48 
I Speeches,  after-dinner,  326,  332 
| Stafford,  Lord,  77 
I Stage-coaches,  41 
| Stanford-on-Avon,  294 
| Stanley,  Mr.,  185 
I Stothard,  his  assistance  to  Chan- 
trey,  231  ; librarian  of  the 
Academy,  232  ; designs  for 
books,  232 
| Strathfieldsaye,  149 


366 


INDEX 


Strauss  bands,  43 
Subject-pictures,  origin  of,  224 
Surrey  Yeomanry,  171 

T 

Tableaux  vivants,  193,  201 ; sub- 
jects, 194,  201 

Taff  Vale  Railway,  survey  for 
the,  178 

Taglioni,  Marie,  the  danseuse , 
8,  198  ; drawing  of,  198  ; her 
character,  198  ; marriage,  199 
Talleyrand,  32 
Tate  Gallery,  58 
Tayler,  F.,  240 
Tenniel,  Edward,  1 1 
— , Sir  John,  1 1 
— , Mr.,  11 

Thalberg,  his  manipulative  power 
in  playing,  212 

Thames  Tunnel,  170 ; inspection 
of  the  works,  172-4 
Thieves,  encounter  with,  45-7 
Thompson,  Dr.  Seth,  5 ; his 
lessons  in  boxing,  86 ; letter 
to  the  Ti?nes  on  the  accident 
to  Mr.  Brunei,  183-6 
Thrupp,  Frederick,  18 1 
Thurston,  Mrs.,  131 
Times , letter  in  the,  183 
Toulon,  180 

“ Tragic  Muse,  The,”  195 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  66.  j 
See  Cambridge 
Turin,  182 

Turner,  J.  M.  W.,  on  the  use  of 
“permanent  white”  in  water- 
colour drawings,  240;  his  pic- 
ture, “The  Snowdon  Range,” 


245  ; method  of  criticism,  247  ; 
his  man-of-war,  248  ; habit  of 
keeping  the  paper  moist,  248  ; 
his  collection  of  pictures  at 
Farnley,  280;  “Sketches  on  the 
Rhine,”  282  ; study  of  nature, 
284  ; day’s  work,  284  ; bequest 
to  the  nation,  285  ; treatment 
of  his  pictures,  286 
Twizells,  Selby  of,  108 
Tyburn  Gate,  23 

Tyndall,  Professor,  Faraday  as  a 
Discoverer , 218  ; his  discovery 
of  a microbe  in  water,  219 
Tyrol,  182 

U 

Ultramarine,  real  and  French, 
rival  merits  of,  244 

V 

Varley,  John,  18 

Vauxhall  toll  - gate  keeper,  at- 
tempted murder  of  the,  118 
Velluti,  Signor,  his  voice,  9 
Venice,  182 

Vernet,  Horace,  head  of  the 
French  Academy  in  Rome,  85 ; 
his  pupils  at  the  Institut,  85  ; 
size  of  his  pictures,  86 ; “ La 
Smala,”  86 ; lessons  in  boxing, 
87 ; picture  on  the  siege  of 
Constantine,  88-90 
Vernon,  Lady  Dorothy,  her  elope- 
ment, 102 

— , Mr.,  his  method  of  purchasing 
pictures,  58 ; character  as  host, 
60  ; sense  of  humour,  61 
Versailles,  90  ; Bishop  of,  91 
Victoria  Alexandria,  Her  Majesty 
Queen,  123 ; her  horseman- 
ship, 124;  graceful  bows,  125  ; 
compared  with  the  Empress 


INDEX 


367 


Eugdnie,  125  ; appoints  Miss 
Skerrett  Head  Dresser,  128 ; on 
her  duties,  129;  birth  of  Princess 
Beatrice,  130;  birthday  present 
for  Prince  Consort,  13 1,  133; 
her  interest  in  art,  135  ; vigorous 
constitution,  135;  interest  in 
Landseer’s  anecdotes,  137-9 
Vokins,  Mr.  W.,  284 

W 

Waistcoat,  white,  invention  of  the, 
144 

Wales,  H.R.H.  Prince  of,  336 
Wales,  journeys  in,  177 
Walker,  F rederick,  elected  A.  R.  A., 
241  ; his  use  of  “permanent 
white,”  242 ; his  pictures,  “ Geese 
driven  through  the  Street  of 
Cookham,”  242;  “The  Ferry- 
boat at  Marlow,”  242 
Walking  races,  42 
Wall,  Aunt,  2 ; her  stories,  2 ; 
accident,  3 

Waltz,  introduction  of  the,  43 
Water-colour  drawings,  use  of 
“ permanent  white,”  240 
Waterloo,  battle  of,  pictures  on 
the,  233 

Watts,  Geo.  Frederick,  awarded 
a prize  in  cartoon  drawing,  254 
Webbe,  of  Bond  Street,  194 
Webster,  Thomas,  30,  59,  293  ; 
his  pictures  from  humble  life, 
235  ; stories  of  Court  life,  235  ; 
chorister,  235 ; page  to  the 
young  Princesses,  235  ; political 


views,  236  ; Bishop’s  assistance 
to,  301  ; at  Cranbrook,  338 
Wellington,  Duke  of,  34, 1 17,  308  ; 
anecdote  of,  149;  his  resem- 
blance to  Mr.  George  Jones, 
232  ; at  the  exhibition  of  paint- 
ings in  Westminster  Hall,  233 ; 
Landseer’s  picture  of  him,  237 
Wells,  Mr.,  55;  Landseer’s  portrait 
of  his  dog,  36-8 

Westmacott,  Sir  Richard,  on  the 
muscular  power  of  Michael 
Angelo,  292 

Westminster  Hall,  exhibition  of 
oil  pictures,  233,  272 ; charcoal 
cartoons,  254 

Whewell,  at  Cambridge,  68  ; his 
discussion  with  Sedgwick,  68 
White-Ridley,  Sir  Matthew,  12 1 
Wilkie,  Sir  David,  18,  58  ; his 
pictures, “The  Penny  Wedding” 
and  “Blind  Man’s  Buff,”  134 
Willesley,  purchase  and  decora- 
tion of,  340-3 
William  III.,  1 14 
Windsor,  walk  to,  45 
Wordsworth,  Master  of  Trinity 
College,  68 

Wren,  Sir  Christopher,  2 
Wrotham,  105 

Y 

Yealmpton  Church,  346 
Yew  hedges  of  Kensington  Gar- 
dens, 1 14 
Young,  Mr.,  240 
“Youth  and  Age,”  51 


PLYMOUTH 


WILLIAM  BRENDON  AND  SON 


PRINTERS 


GETTY  RESEARCH  INSTITUTE 


3 3125  01360  5320 


